


Jumping Channels

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Castiel Whump, Episode: s05e08 Changing Channels, Family Feels, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Gabriel, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, episode AU, quasi-crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel has the Winchesters right where he wants them…until a vengeful pagan goddess hijacks his pocket dimension. Now the infamous Trickster/archangel will need the boys’ help if they’re all going to get out of TV land alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where's the Remote?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Some lines here are from 5x8 "Changing Channels," but I do not own Supernatural, or the myriad of other television shows we’ll be visiting on this adventure.
> 
> (Originally posted Jan. 9, '15 on ff.net)

Dean stood with shoulders taut as he stared down the Trickster. If he was wrong, there was no telling where they’d be sent next—another Japanese game show, idiotic commercial…he and Sam could be stuck in this wretched dimension for the rest of their lives. But Dean wasn’t wrong.

“Tell me one thing,” he said. “Why didn’t the stake kill you?”

The douchebag was silent for a beat. “I am the Trickster.”

Dean heard the tiny click and braced himself. “Or maybe you’re not.”

Sam threw the lighter down, igniting a ring of holy oil. Fulvous, red-orange flames burst up around the Trickster, who glanced around in mild surprise.

“Maybe you’ve always been an angel,” Dean continued.

The Trickster lifted his brows and let out a nervous laugh. “A what? Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?”

Dean smiled. “I’ll tell you what, you just jump out of the holy fire and we’ll call it our mistake.”

The “Trickster” shook his head with another feeble chuckle before his expression fell. “Well played, boys. Well played.” He sighed before asking curiously, “Where’d you get the holy oil?”

Dean suppressed a grin. “Well, you might say we pulled it out of Sam’s ass.”

Sam shot him a pissy look.

The Trickster’s shoulders slumped. “Where’d I screw up?”

“You didn’t,” Sam replied. “Nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did.”

“Mostly it was the way you talked about Armageddon,” Dean put in.

The Trickster frowned. “Meaning?”

“Well, call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they’re talking about their own family.”

The Trickster glanced away thoughtfully, not denying it.

“So which one are you?” Sam asked. “Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?”

The Trickster gave him a meaningful look. “Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel.”

“Gabriel? The archangel?” Sam said in disbelief, barely able to contain his disgust.

Gabriel inclined his head. “Guilty.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. He was so friggin’ sick of angels, their destiny crap, and screwing with reality in order to ‘teach Dean a lesson.’ First Zachariah, and now an archangel? Though, how the hell did an archangel end up pretending to be the Trickster? Dean and Sam had tangled with him long before they’d even known angels existed. He shook his head; that was for another time.

“Get us the hell out of your little playground,” he demanded.

Gabriel snorted. “Or what?”

“Or we’re going to dunk you in holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel.”

Lightning split the sky and the ground rumbled. Sam looked around nervously, but Dean wasn’t impressed. He’d seen Raphael put on a similar display while trapped in a ring of holy fire, and it was all show.

“Or maybe we just skip directly to barbecued angel wings,” he said. “I bet if we snuff you out, the power holding us here goes too.” He didn’t know, not for sure, but he was done screwing around.

Gabriel lifted his gaze to the churning sky. “Uh, that’s not me.”

The sun disappeared, replaced with roiling black clouds. A bitter gust kicked up, bending the holy flames almost horizontally. The chill almost instantly numbed Dean’s hands, and he exchanged an alarmed look with Sam.

“We-ll, this isn’t good,” Gabriel remarked, though the slight roll of his shoulders belied his nonchalance.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

Gabriel reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Heh, let’s just say, whoever said that ‘Hell hath no fury’ thing had nooo idea…”

A column of flames erupted to their left, blazing and scorching with the intensity of a bonfire. Dean and Sam recoiled a step from the sweltering heat, and blinked in bewilderment as the inferno died down, leaving a woman standing before them. Tongues of fire continued to lick up and down her form, a ravishing, sun-tanned beauty in a red blouse and black skirt. Her attire was elegant yet simplistic, save for the silver chain belt of skulls around her lissome waist and a gold bracelet on her right wrist. Brown hair curled about her shoulders, and her maroon-shaded lips were set in a sharp frown.

“Hello, Loki,” she said icily.

“ _Loki?_ ” Dean repeated, shooting a glance back at Gabriel. “How many aliases have you been masquerading as?”

Gabriel shot him a look that said, ‘zip it.’

“Uh, hey pookie,” the archangel replied, and Dean didn’t miss the slight hitch in his voice. “What’s shakin’?”

For all the sweltering heat still radiating from where she’d been wreathed in flames, the woman’s expression was stone cold. “Your cavalier attitude is as disrespectful as ever.”

Gabriel lifted his hands apologetically. “I was gonna call.”

“Be silent!” Thunder cracked with the vehemence in her voice. Dean and Sam both took another wary step back. Whatever was going on, they did not need to get between two very powerful entities, one who was clearly pissed off.

Gabriel winced. “Kali, sugar-plum, listen…”

“No,” she snapped. “It is time you listen, Loki. Or should I say, _Gabriel_?” Her lip curled up in a sneer.

The archangel looked surprised for a moment. “How long have you known?”

“Long enough. You are quite skilled in giving the tricks, but now let’s see if you have what it takes to survive your own.” With a snap of her fingers, flames whooshed up to engulf her. Dean and Sam threw their arms up to shield their faces as a blast of heat washed over them, negating the chill from the storm seething above. When the fire died down, the woman was gone.

Dean turned in a half-circle, making sure it was just the three of them again. “What the hell was that?”

“You two need to let me out right now,” Gabriel said sharply.

Dean shook his head. “Not until you get us out of TV land, for real this time.”

Gabriel scowled. “I _can’t_. Not the quick way, anyhow.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam snapped.

He sighed, jerking his thumb toward where Kali had been. “Did you miss that? What do you think just happened? She hijacked my pocket dimension, alright? I no longer have control.”

Dean blinked. “Excuse me? Who has the juice for that? You’re an archangel!”

“Yes, and Kali’s a very pissed off goddess of violence,” Gabriel shot back. “Now release me before things get worse.”

Dean snorted. “How could they get worse?”

The scenery suddenly switched to walls of grayscale static before wiping the road stop away and depositing the three of them on a dry countryside. Scraggly shrubbery, large rocks, and spindly pine trees dotted the landscape as far as they could see. In the distance, a herd of cattle grazed.

Gabriel groaned. “You had to say it!”

Dean reached up to feel the wide brim of a hat shading his face. “Where the hell are we now?” He turned in a half-circle and stopped, quirking a brow at the huge, oblong-shaped cowboy hat sitting atop Sam’s head. He couldn’t help but snicker. “That’s a good look for you, Sam.”

Sam flicked his eyes up before tearing off the hat and tossing it on the ground. His gaze shifted to his hip where a gun holster sat. Dean patted his own side and found a pistol there as well. He drew it out, brows lifting at the old-fashioned craftsmanship: a light brown handle with dark steel barrel, engraved with a flourished design. Now that was a sweet piece.

“So we’re in some old Western,” Sam said.

Well, Dean could think of worse places to be. Too bad this wasn’t a game. He turned toward Gabriel. “How do we get out of here?”

The archangel pursed his lips. “There are backdoor portals. We simply have to find them and go through until we reach the outer one that spits us back out into the real world.”

Dean shook his head. “Great. Sam, let’s go.”

“Uh, guys! You can’t leave me here.”

“No?” Dean’s finger itched to pull the trigger of his gun, just to see what it would do to the Trickster/douche-angel. “Like you planned to leave us here?”

“I would have let you out eventually.”

Dean glanced at Sam and the two started to turn away.

“Hey! You need me. I can sense the portals.”

That stopped them, and the brothers exchanged another look. Crap. If they let the archangel go, there’d be no getting the drop on him again. But then, what were the odds they could find their way out on their own? Even if Gabriel was no longer in control, he still knew how to navigate a pocket dimension.

“Come on, guys,” Gabriel whined. “Let me be your wingman.”

A burst of fury popped in Dean’s chest, and he marched back to the ring of fire. “Where’d you stash Cas? Is he somewhere in this nightmare circus?”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “Eh, he’s in some other channel.”

“Bring him back.”

The angel shot him a look that said, ‘idiot’. “I can’t move us so what makes you dimwits think I can move him?”

A muscle in Dean’s jaw ticked. “Fine, here’s how this is gonna go down. You’re gonna take us to these backdoors, bring us to Cas, and then you’re going to lead us all out of here.”

Gabriel pursed his lips. “Mhm, Cassie-boy can take care of himself. We really should be worried about our own skins.”

Dean shook his head and turned away again, nodding at Sam for them to get going.

“Okay, wait!” Gabriel called after them. “Fine, we’ll go pick up the extra baggage.”

“You’re the extra baggage,” Dean practically growled as he whirled back to face the archangel. He wanted nothing more than to leave the smarmy bastard there, but dammit, they needed him if they were going to get out of this.

Sam scooped up some dirt and hovered over the edge of the flames. “You give us your word?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Yes.”

“Not like we could trust it,” Dean muttered. But they had no choice. He nodded to Sam, who threw the dirt on the fire. Dean scuffed more into the ring with his boot, and the flames extinguished. He tensed instinctively, waiting for the Trickster to rear his ugly head as though this were some elaborate setup. But Gabriel merely snapped his fingers, and a dark brown cowboy hat appeared on his head.

He swung his arms around the Winchesters’ shoulders. “Well, partners, let’s hit the trail!”

Both Dean and Sam shrugged out of his embrace. Dean had a biting retort on his tongue, but a horse’s whinny interrupted him, and he turned as a group of four men on horseback came riding around a clump of large boulders. A massive dust cloud kicked up behind them, clomping hooves beating across the ground like drums. When the quartet pulled to a stop in front of the Winchesters and Gabriel, Dean tipped his hat at them.

“Fellas.”

One of the men, a scrawny guy with a dirtied baby-face, dismounted. “I got a bone to pick with you, Cartwright.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder. Was the guy talking to him? Right, they were still supposed to be in some damn TV show. He threw a questioning look at Gabriel, who just shrugged. Great, how was he supposed to play along without the script?

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“I want that cattle stock from Cordell Hurst.”

“Uh…” He coughed lightly, turning his head to take in the cows on the range behind them.

The group’s spokesperson stepped forward and continued, “Hurst was gonna sell me that stock until you swooped in.”

“Heh, guess we offered a better price?” Dean said.

Sam made a disgruntled noise and shot him an annoyed look.

“I want what’s mine,” the cowboy said.

Gabriel crossed his arms. “I don’t see your name on them.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to give a black glare.

“Look,” Sam spoke up calmly. “I’m sure we can reach some sort of arrangement. Why don’t you come by…uh, our place…tomorrow, and we’ll discuss it?”

Cowboy-dude hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “So you can jack up the price? Sell it to us for twice what you paid?”

“No, that’s not—” Sam started.

“You boys think you’re entitled to everything,” the guy spat. “I think it’s time someone taught you a lesson.”

As though that had been a signal, the other three guys dismounted and moved forward, shoulders taut and arms spaced as though ready for a fight.

Shit, they did not have time for this.

“I’d like to see you try, small-fry,” Gabriel rejoined.

“Hey, we don’t want any trouble,” Dean said, trying to salvage the situation, even as he registered it was futile. The leader was already charging toward him, arm swinging up with a right hook. Dean threw an arm up to block and rammed a punch into the guy’s gut. Kid wasn’t going down easy though, for he shoved his shoulder into Dean’s chest, thrusting him back a few paces. A left cross connected with his jaw. Head rattling, Dean staggered back as the guy advanced. He ducked the next swing, which ended up taking his hat off, and drove a fist into the dude’s lower back. Then Dean kicked him with the heel of his boot, shoving the kid face first into the dirt.

He turned to see Sam brawling with one of the other guys, while Gabriel took on two. The archangel looked to be having way too much fun, a wide grin on his face as he pummeled and punched. Then one of the burly guys got in a lucky strike, a meaty fist clobbering Gabriel in the face. The archangel flew off balance and landed on his ass, blinking dazedly.

Rolling his eyes, Dean strode forward and grabbed one of the smaller goons by the back of his shirt collar, swinging him around and chucking him back toward the horses. He pivoted as the guy with an extra one-hundred pounds on him closed in. Dean tried to dodge, but ended up being cuffed in the shoulder. Pain radiated through his collarbone as he stumbled away.

Before the guy could knock Dean’s lights out, Gabriel appeared, cupped the cowboy by the back of the neck, and flung him back toward the horses as well. Angelic strength sure did come in handy sometimes.

The guy Sam had been scuffling with teetered toward his friends, sporting a bloody nose.

Gabriel crossed his arms. “Run along, kiddos.”

They exchanged nervous glances with each other before looking toward their leader, who was also staggering to his feet, only his face was red with rage. He took a stumbling step as though to attack again, but winced and clutched at his back.

“Let’s go, Cliff,” one of the other cowboys said, and reached for his horse.

Dean watched the kid limp toward his friends, catching the murderous glare in his eyes as he passed. He’d thought the Wild West style of handling disagreements was manly and effective…unless you were the loser. Good thing Dean’s “role” was to never lose.

Cliff paused halfway to his horse and turned around slowly. Something in Dean’s gut twinged, all the way down to his fingertips, like a premonition. Cliff’s hand twitched and went for the draw.


	2. So You Wanna Be a Cowboy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, some dialogue lifted from the episode “Changing Channels.”

Before Dean could process what he was doing, he’d whipped out his pistol and fired. The shots cracked almost simultaneously, and the acrid smell of gunpowder suddenly filled the air. Cliff’s body crumpled to the ground.

Dean stared down the barrel of his smoking gun. Slowly, he aimed it at the other men. “Fun’s over, fellas. I don’t wanna see you ‘round these parts again.” He jerked his pistol at the fallen body, indicating they should retrieve their friend and go.

Moving cautiously, two of the men shuffled forward and lifted Cliff into their arms, then slung him over the saddle of his horse. Burly-dude took the reins in his hand as he mounted his own steed, and the group rode off. Dean rolled his neck, feeling oddly satisfied.

Sam stepped in front of him. “What the hell was that?”

Unable to suppress his grin, Dean lifted the gun to blow at the barrel. “Just playing my role.” And it had been damn cool. A real Wild West showdown.

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to Gabriel. “Can we go now?”

“Well, you’re no fun,” the archangel groused.

“You call that fun? Dean could’ve been shot!”

“But I wasn’t.” He twirled his gun and slipped it back in the holster. Damn, he could get used to this.

Sam was nearly seething. “Just tell us what the portals look like,” he huffed at Gabriel.

“Uh, a rainbow escalator, wardrobe of winter coats?” Gabriel shrugged. “How should I know? They could look like anything. But I’ll be able to tell when we’re close.”

Dean held back a retort as he snatched up his hat. “So, what, we pick a direction and walk?”

Gabriel pursed his lips and turned in a half-circle. The corners of his mouth twitched with a grin. “No, bucko. We ride.”

Dean followed his gaze to where three horses were tethered to some bushes. He arched his brows. _Great_.

Dean and Sam approached the horses warily, whereas Gabriel marched straight for the mustang. He untangled the reins from the briar bush and swung up into the saddle. The Winchesters exchanged a look. Yeah, they could do this. No problem.

Sam got the reins for a white and brown splotched pinto, and then stared dumbly at the saddle.

“Put your foot in…there,” Dean gestured.

“Stirrup, and I know.” Sam’s face scrunched up as he considered the obstacle.

Dean turned to his own steed, a light honey brown horse with shaggy hair of the same shade. Putting his palms up and out, he cautiously approached the beast, afraid he’d spook it. The horse let out a whicker and lifted one hoof. Dean flinched, then steeled himself. It was just a stupid animal. And dammit, was he a badass cowboy or not?

Gabriel leaned one arm across the saddle horn, eyes dancing with amusement as he watched. Trying to ignore the douche-angel, Dean grabbed the saddle rim and attempted to haul himself up. He almost flipped over the other side like a seesaw, but swung his leg around in time to balance himself in the saddle, which was damn uncomfortable. With one hand gripping the horn, Dean reached up to hold his hat in place. He could do this. Just play the role. _Be_ the cowboy.

Dean straightened, feeling more confident in the saddle. He almost choked on a suppressed snort when he spotted Sam leaning all the way forward over his horse’s neck.

“Hey, nothing to it, Sammy,” he tried to reassure his brother. “Just like riding a bike. Sorta.” Okay, not really because bicycles didn’t breathe, weren’t this high off the ground, and didn’t possess the weight to crush you if it fell over.

_Yeah, that’s the spirit._

“Yippee-ki-yay, boys,” Gabriel crowed, and nudged his horse into a trot. Dean did the same, followed by Sam.

The more Dean concentrated on _being_ a real cowboy from the Wild West, the more at ease he got. He even urged his steed into a full gallop. The wind whipped his face, threatening to rip his hat away, but surprisingly it stayed on. Well, this was TV land after all, and cowboys never lost their hats. He was almost tempted to let out a delightful whoop at the thrill of flying across the countryside, but since Gabriel had already done so, Dean restrained himself. He refused to show how much pleasure he was taking in all this, considering the damn archangel had been holding them hostage, and now some pagan goddess was.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they’d been riding, but Gabriel suddenly reined in his horse at a watering hole, and the Winchesters had no choice but to follow suit. Gabriel leaned forward to pat his horse’s neck as the beast dipped its head to drink.

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Sam asked.

“Of course,” the archangel replied glibly. “This is my pocket dimension.”

“Yeah?” Dean said, shifting in the saddle. Jeez, riding like a real cowboy didn’t make his backside ache any less. “Then where the hell is this backdoor?”

Gabriel’s eyes flicked between the brothers. “What, you boys in a hurry?”

Dean glowered at him. “You wanna sit back and wait for psycho bitch to come back?”

“Hey, watch your mouth.”

“What’s the story between you and Kali anyway?” Sam spoke up. “She thought you were a Norse god?”

“Eh, yeah. Loki, the original Trickster.” Gabriel waggled his brows.

“How does an archangel become a Trickster anyway?” Dean asked. His horse snorted and swung its head to nip a flower bud off a tiny cactus.

Gabriel shrugged. “My own private witness protection.”

“From who?” Sam said in disbelief.

“Heaven, obviously. I skipped out, established my own little corner of the world. Till you two screwed it all up.” He jabbed his index fingers at both of them emphatically.

Dean snorted. “What did Daddy say when you ran off and joined the pagans?”

Gabriel’s expression darkened. “Daddy doesn’t say anything about anything.”

Yeah, Dean was getting that.

“Then what happened?” Sam asked. “Why’d you ditch?”

“Do you blame him?” Dean interrupted. “I mean, his brothers are heavyweight douchenozzles.”

“Shut your cakehole,” Gabriel snapped with a vehemence that startled his horse. “You don’t know anything about my family. I love my father, my brothers. _Love_ them.” Gabriel glanced away, out over the vista of ponderosa pines. When he looked back at the Winchesters, his expression was anything but flippant. “But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other’s throats? I couldn’t bear it, okay? So I left. And now it’s happening all over again.”

“Then help us stop it,” Sam pleaded.

Gabriel scoffed. “It can’t be stopped.”

Dean glared at him. “You wanna see the end of the world?”

“I want it to be over! I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you two! Heaven, Hell, I don’t care who wins. I just want it to be over.” With that, he pulled his steed away from the watering hole and nudged him into a half-trot.

Dean tugged his horse’s reins to veer around and follow. “No,” he snapped as he caught up to Gabriel. “This isn’t about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can’t be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family.”

Gabriel’s eyes were stormy as he looked over, but Dean couldn’t tell if the roiling emotions were directed at him, or surfacing from some deep well the archangel had been stopping up for a millennium. It was somewhat startling, that the being they’d known as the Trickster could be capable of such passion. If only the Winchesters could convince Gabriel to _help_ them. The end of the world didn’t have to happen; his brothers didn’t _have_ to kill each other.

Dean opened his mouth to make his argument again when an arrow whizzed past his head. He whipped around in the saddle, unintentionally jerking his horse into a ninety-degree turn. His eyes widened at the hillside one hundred yards away where two dozen bare-chested men with red painted faces were barreling down, some on horseback, some on foot. With high-pitched caterwauls, they brandished tomahawks and axes. Others paused in their charge to pull bows back, and more arrows zinged through the air. One bolt thudded into a tree inches from Sam’s face.

Dean pulled out his pistol. “You’ve got to be friggin’ kidding me!”

“Ah, in this case of fight or flight, I vote for flight!” Gabriel kicked his horse, spurring into a gallop.

Dean craned his horse around to follow. If they could just get out of range of the archers, they might be able to take the six or so on horseback in pursuit. Or hopefully just outrun them.

A horse’s terrifying shriek assaulted his eardrums, too close to belong to one of the Indians. Dean glanced over his shoulder, heart dropping into his stomach at the sight of Sam’s horse rearing back, an arrow protruding from its shoulder. Sam clung for dear life as the animal stumbled and went down.

“Sam!” Dean yanked the reins right, leading his horse into a sharp turn, and galloped back toward his brother. Three Indians on horses were also closing in.

Gritting his teeth, Dean raised his pistol and fired three successive shots. The first two hit their marks, and the Indians flipped backward off their mounts. The third, however, had dropped down, and was now hanging along the horse’s flank like a monkey as they raced toward Sam. Tomahawk in hand, the Indian leaped to the ground, tucking into a roll and coming to his feet in one swift move.

Dean couldn’t see his brother, and was afraid the horse had pinned him…or worse, squashed him. He fired again, haphazardly this time, just to scare the Indian away, but the guy would not be daunted. Instead, he arched his arm behind his head and flung the axe at Dean. The crudely constructed weapon flew over Dean’s head as he managed to duck just in time. Suddenly, the Wild West wasn’t looking so fun anymore.

Pulling his horse to an abrupt stop, Dean aimed his gun and pulled the trigger, believing whole-heartedly that he was a world-class pistol whipper. Because if his shot missed, Sam could die.

The Indian jerked as the bullet tore through his chest, torquing him in a half-spin before he hit the ground. Dean swung off his horse and ran to his brother.

“Sam? Sam!”

A grunt came from the other side of the wounded pinto. “Here.”

Dean leaped over the back legs and nearly kicked Sam’s flailing arms. There wasn’t any blood, or arrows sticking out of the younger Winchester, but his leg was pinned under the prone horse. Dean grabbed his hand and yanked. With strained effort, he managed to pull Sam free, just as a trio of Indians bore down on them. Dean didn’t have time to raise his pistol, but a series of gunshots cracked the air anyway, and the Indians dropped. He looked up to find Gabriel several yards away, gun smoking in his hand.

“Giddy-up, cowgirls.”

Dean hauled Sam to his feet and shoved him toward his own horse amidst a rain of arrows. Gabriel fired more rounds into the attack group as Dean climbed back into the saddle and Sam scrambled up behind him. Then they turned their horses and booked it out of there.

Luckily, after two miles, the Indians gave up their pursuit. Dean and Gabriel kept up their pace though, just to put some distance between them and the people hoping to scalp them. Fifteen minutes later, a town popped up on the horizon, so they veered toward it. Dean figured that was why the Indians hadn’t followed them further, so he felt a small measure of safety as they trotted down the dirt main street. They pulled up to a wooden post and dismounted.

Dean almost fell on his ass as his legs seemed locked in a bowed position. He winced and lumbered a few steps to loosen his muscles.

Sam slid down next with a grunt. “Ow.”

Dean immediately shoved his own discomfort aside and gripped his brother’s arm. “Are you hurt?” They’d been so busy running for their lives, Dean hadn’t stopped to see if getting pinned by that horse had caused Sam serious injury. He bent down to check his brother’s leg for any broken bones.

“Just my pride,” Sam responded, rubbing his back. “And possibly some other unmentionable places.”

Dean snorted. _No kidding._

Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Well, I’m parched after all that excitement. Whaddya say we rustle up some drink and saloon girls?”

Dean’s initial thought was, ‘heck yeah,’ but he quickly checked himself. “We’re not on vacation.”

“Oh come on. Admit it, you were having some fun back there.” Gabriel twirled his finger at Dean.

He shook his head. “We need to find Cas, remember?”

Gabriel sighed. “What’s your hurry? Little bro will seriously cramp our style.”

Dean stepped into his personal space, forgetting for a moment that the guy was capable of smiting him to kingdom come. “This isn’t a game anymore! You got a pissed off goddess gunning for you. First vengeful dickheads and then Indians? Me and Sam are gonna get caught in the crossfire here.”

“Re-lax,” Gabriel drawled.

“Your face hurt?” Dean said suddenly, gesturing to a bit of discoloration that was beginning to show. “Because you got the starters of a nice shiner coming in.”

Gabriel actually frowned at that, and reached two fingers up to gingerly touch his cheekbone. He couldn’t hide the slight wince when he pressed tender flesh. “Huh.” For once, there was no cocky undertone in his voice.

Sam’s brows rose in astonishment. “So you’re vulnerable here. Whatever Kali did, she wanted you to feel the effects of being stuck here. And what did you call her, the goddess of _violence_?”

“Puh-leeze,” Gabriel scoffed. “I’m still an archangel, fellas.” He placed a hand over his heart. “But your concern is touching.”

“We could care less about you,” Dean snapped. “But if you’re vulnerable in this shit hole, then so is Cas. Only he’s cut off from Heaven and doesn’t have your juice.”

Gabriel quirked his mouth as he appraised them. “Fine,” he finally sighed. “But I’m not picking up portal vibes yet.”

“Then let’s stop dawdling,” Dean said. The sooner they got the hell out of TV land, the sooner he and Sam could get as far away from the smarmy archangel as possible. He glanced up and down the row of buildings. There was a saloon across the way, a bank on the corner one block up, and a telegraph office. Dean wondered what year they were in.

“So, what,” Sam spoke up. “We just walk up and down the streets with Gabriel like a metal detector?”

“Hey,” the archangel said, sounding mildly offended.

Dean rolled his eyes, turning half a step to just pick a direction, when three men came around the corner, heading straight for them. One wore a sheriff’s badge, the second a deputy’s star, and the third wore plain black. The sheriff waved at Dean to hold up.

_Great_ , he thought. _Now what?_

“Boys,” the older man said, tipping his hat. He had a salt-and-pepper mustache and wizened face that had seen too much sun.

“Sheriff,” Sam responded warily.

The man turned to Dean with a regretful look. “I’m sorry to have to do this, son, but you’re under arrest.”

Dean’s brows shot up. “For what?”

“For killing my brother,” the man in black spoke up. He was clean shaven, with dark hair to match his attire—which, frankly, in Dean’s book screamed obvious bad guy.

“There must be a misunderstanding,” Sam said.

“I wish there were,” the sheriff said morosely. “But three witnesses say they saw your brother shoot Cliff Dalton in cold blood.”

_Cliff…_ “Whoa, wait a minute,” Dean exclaimed. “That was self-defense. Those guys attacked us _first_.”

“Gabri—Gabe’s even got the black eye to prove it,” Sam added, gesturing to the archangel.

The sheriff angled his gaze to take in Gabriel’s blossoming bruise, but shook his head. “That ain’t proof of who started it, or who gave it.”

Gabriel crossed his arms. “Those ninnies are just embarrassed because I handed them their asses. They’re lucky I didn’t do worse.”

“Not helping,” Sam hissed.

The sheriff sighed and looked at Dean. “I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to come with us. Please don’t make trouble for your pa by resisting.”

“Hey,” Sam said loudly. “There’s no proof Dean acted in self-defense, which means there’s no proof he acted in cold blood either! The law says innocent until proven _guilty_.”

“But you admit he was the one who shot my brother,” Dalton interjected. “And he must be held accountable. You Cartwrights aren’t above the law.” There was such venom in his voice, similar to how his brother had approached them on the range. Guess “Cartwrights” were hated for some reason. Dean had half a mind to tell them his name was Winchester, but there was probably no point reasoning with a pre-scripted hologram or whatever the hell these characters were.

“Gabriel,” Dean growled under his breath.

The archangel clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, ‘bro’.” He winked. “We’ll get you a good attorney.”

Dean sputtered as his arms were yanked behind his back and metal cuffs snapped over his wrists. Sam shot him a panicked look, gaze saying he was ready to fight their way out if need be. But the last thing they needed was all of them in jail, or worse, getting shot. By the way Dalton’s hand was hovering near his gun holster, Dean had no doubt that the guy was praying for an excuse to exact personal revenge—either on Dean directly or by hurting his brother.

He gave Sam a subtle head shake as he was led away. Dean could only hope his little brother would come up with a plan to get him out of this. Or that the stupid archangel would stop jerking them around and just blast all these puppets to hell.

Dalton fell into step beside him, leaning in close enough to speak in a low tone just for Dean. “I _will_ see you hang, one way or the other.”

_Awesome_.


	3. The Wild Wild West

Sam gritted his teeth as Dean gave the signal to back off. They had an archangel with them for crying out loud; they could take these guys. Though picking a fight with lawmen probably wasn’t the best idea, considering they hadn’t found their escape hatch yet. So Sam watched helplessly as his brother was dragged away by the sheriff. He whirled on Gabriel. “What do we do?”

The archangel clapped his hands together. “Hit the cantina.”

“What about Dean?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You were Stanford pre-law; go put that education to use. In the meantime, I’ve got a hankering for Tarantula Juice and sugar.” His gaze drifted to the side, and he waggled his brows.

Sam craned his neck over his shoulder and spotted a woman in a busty maroon dress standing on the porch of the saloon. She swayed her hips suggestively, ruby lips twitching in a coquettish smile.

“Seriously?” Sam snapped. “A woman’s what got you into this mess. We need to find the portal out of here, remember?”

“And I’m looking,” Gabriel replied. “Starting in there.” With that, the archangel smoothed his hair back and strutted away.

Sam stared after him as he walked up to the saloon girl and the two headed inside. Mentally cursing the day he met the Trickster, Sam pivoted and headed the direction the sheriff had taken his brother.

Two blocks up the next street, he saw a wooden board with a lawman’s star etched into the grain hanging over a single building. He marched straight up to the door and pushed it open. The sheriff’s office was a one-room space with faded, scuffed planks on the floor. An equally weary looking desk sat along the right wall, and a single jail cell was nestled in the back left corner. Dean had already been un-cuffed and locked inside, and was currently standing with his arms slung through the bars. His accuser was no longer there, and the sheriff and deputy were conversing by the desk. Their voices instantly silenced at Sam’s entrance, however.

“John,” the sheriff said. “Would you give us a minute?”

The deputy glanced between Sam and the sheriff. “Sure, Roy.”

Sam stepped aside to allow the deputy to exit, and then looked at Dean. _You alright?_

Dean gave a half-shrug. _Peachy_.

Sam cleared his throat. “Sheriff, I know emotions are running high after what happened, but we can’t ignore due process. Right now, it’s our word against theirs…”

Sheriff Coffee—Sam could now see his nameplate on the desk—was shaking his head. “Another witness came forward, said he saw your brother gun down Cliff without provocation.”

Sam straightened. “What?”

“That’s bull!” Dean exclaimed, and Sam shot him a quelling look.

“Sheriff, there was no one else out there.”

“George Trivell said he was out exercising a horse. He’s a good man, got no reason to lie.”

“Apparently he does,” Dean snapped.

Sam’s heart rate kicked up. What kind of whacked out drama was this? “Sheriff, I’m telling you, we were out in the open on grazing land; I would’ve seen if anyone was close enough to see what went down.”

Sheriff Coffee shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, son, but with a third party witness—”

“I want to talk to him.”

Coffee narrowed his gaze. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Yeah, if they’d been in their own time, Sam would be charged with witness tampering. Luckily, that part of criminal law hadn’t been established until the 1980s.

He pulled his shoulders back. “I have the right to ask my brother’s accuser why he’s willing to lie.” Okay, not really, but Sam was not letting this go. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, gauging how much about his own role he could guess. “Sheriff,” he added carefully. “You know I won’t do anything stupid. I just wanna talk to him.”

After a prolonged minute of deliberation, Sheriff Coffee’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I want to believe you boys. Dalton’s a mean son-of-a-gun, and his brother was a piece of work too. I don’t see George throwing his lot in with them, but if you want to ask him, go right ahead.”

Sam nodded gratefully, then hesitated. “Um, where might I find him at this time of day?”

Coffee gave him an odd look. “At the stable, of course.”

“Of course,” Sam quickly covered. “Right.” He looked at his brother. “Hang tight.”

“Like I’m going anywhere,” Dean grumbled.

Sam shot him a parting grimace of sympathy before marching back out into the street. Stable, where was the stable? And how was he supposed to recognize this George Trivell anyway? Sam’s “character” obviously knew him, but Sam was flying blind. _Damn Gabriel and his tricks._ He immediately winced; that wasn’t technically a prayer, but hopefully the archangel couldn’t pick up such thoughts. Sam wished Cas could though, not that their friend could get to them. He’d “gotten out” of wherever Gabe stashed him the first time, but that was before Kali’s mojo was keeping even Gabriel trapped. Sam hoped Cas was okay, and not facing a predicament similar to Dean’s.

After navigating down three streets, Sam finally spotted a large stable. He took a deep breath as he entered, praying the situation could be resolved peaceably and reasonably…even as a voice in the back of his mind scoffed at the likelihood.

“Hello?” he called. The cloying odor of hay, sawdust, and manure filled his nostrils, and he rubbed his nose against the urge to sneeze. “Mr. Trivell?”

A man with more hair in his beard than on his head stepped out of a stall three pens down. His questioning expression immediately fell. “Guess I shoulda known you’d come,” he said morosely.

Guess Sam had his man. Now to get to the bottom of this, for this guy didn’t look like he had a beef with Dean, or Cartwright, whatever. Sam took a few steps forward, aiming for unthreatening, and stopped with six feet left between them.

“Can you blame me? You told the sheriff my brother gunned down Cliff Dalton, but you weren’t even there. So explain that to me.”

Trivell ducked his gaze, a pink flush of shame filling his cheeks.

Sam’s jaw tightened. “Why’d you lie? Did we do something to wrong you? Because if we did, let me make it right without condemning an innocent person to prison.”

Trivell turned away, bracing his hands on the stall door. “No, your family’s always been good to me.”

“Then why?” Sam pressed, unable to keep the desperate edge from his tone.

“Dalton…” Trivell shook his head. “Look, you Cartwrights can afford honorable ideals. Most of us folk, we got families to feed.”

“So, what? Dalton paid you?” Sam said in disgust.

Trivell shot him a baleful look, but behind the indignation was real agony and regret. “Like I said, I got a family.”

Sam felt like he’d been punched. He’d seen that look before, had felt such devastation in his own chest when faced with an impossible decision. He took a step forward, lowering his voice. “Trivell, if Dalton’s threatened you, you gotta tell the sheriff. He can protect you.”

Trivell was shaking his head again.

“Everything okay here?” a new voice spoke up, sending chills down Sam’s spine. He spun to find Dalton leaning against the frame of the large doorway.

Trivell jerked away from Sam as though he’d been stung. “Everything’s fine, Mr. Dalton,” he stammered.

“Cartwright bothering you?”

Sam curled his fingers into a fist. He wanted nothing more than to beat this jackass into the ground, but that wouldn’t get Dean released. It’d only get Sam thrown into the jail cell with him.

Dalton adjusted his black cowboy hat, malice gleaming in his eyes. “I don’t think the judge would be happy to hear you’re trying to intimidate a witness.”

Sam bristled. “No, I don’t think he would.”

Dalton’s lips twitched at the implied threat. He flicked his gaze at Trivell in a dismissive signal, and the stableman made as hasty an exit as possible.

Dalton plucked a straw of hay from a bale and rolled it between his fingers. “You Cartwrights think you’re above everyone, above the law.” He bent the straw in half. “But you’re not.”

“Neither are you.” Dammit, Sam wanted to get the hell out of this dimension. “You won’t get away with this,” he added, but the words tasted bitterly futile.

Dalton tossed the broken reed on the floor. “We’ll see.”

Sam watched him turn and walk out of the stable. He had to tell the sheriff what he’d learned. Even Coffee knew Dalton was a scheming douchebag; if he just looked into Trivell’s story, surely he’d find enough inconsistencies.

As Sam climbed the steps to the sheriff’s office, he heard Dean’s raised voice coming from inside.

“This is bull!”

Pulse ratcheting up, Sam barged in. Dean was gripping the bars of his cell as though he could physically shake them loose. Sheriff Coffee stood on the other side, face drawn.

Sam glanced between them. “What’s going on?”

Coffee shook his head. “The judge made a ruling.”

“What?” Sam said dumbly, his brain taking a moment longer to process what that meant. “But there wasn’t a trial.”

“Judge Mackavoy heard the witness testimonies and decided it was enough.”

“Witness testimonies?” Sam sputtered. “No one took mine. Did they take Gabriel’s?” If the archangel could be pulled away from his drinking long enough to bother, not that Sam thought his version of events would help them.

Coffee didn’t seem to have an answer to that.

“This isn’t due process!” Sam bit his lip and reined his tone in. “Sheriff, listen. Dalton threatened Trivell into testifying. You need to talk to him, offer protection to his family.”

Coffee pursed his lips. “That’s quite an accusation.”

“Like murder isn’t?”

Dean started pacing in his four-foot cell. “You can’t stand for this!”

The sheriff gave him a pained look. “I can try to talk to George, but if he doesn’t recant by morning…”

Sam straightened. “Wait, by morning?”

Coffee’s expression pinched with regret. “Your brother is sentenced to hang at dawn.”

All the oxygen seemed to get sucked out of Sam’s lungs. “Wh-what?”

“I’m sorry, son.”

“Well you can shove your sorry up your ass,” Dean snarled.

Sheriff Coffee blinked in bewilderment. “Now look here, son, I know you’re upset—”

“Upset?” Dean grabbed the bars in a white-knuckled grip. “If you would do your damn job—”

“Sheriff,” Sam said loudly. “Could you give us a few minutes?”

Coffee’s mouth was set in a thin line, but he gave a small nod. Casting one last look at Dean, he scooped up his hat from the desk and stepped outside.

“Spineless son-of-a-bitch,” Dean growled, slamming the soft side of his fist against the bars. It did little to lessen the blow, if his wince was anything to go by.

“I’m not sure he has much choice,” Sam muttered. “Get the feeling this whole thing is scripted against us?”

“Where the hell is Gabriel?”

“Supposed to be looking for the portal, but probably carousing with saloon girls,” Sam replied bitterly.

“So I’m about to be hanged and he’s out chasing tail?” Dean rolled his eyes and started pacing again. “Awesome. I thought this was supposed to be Kali’s revenge against _him_.”

“I’ll get you out,” Sam promised, sweeping his gaze around the small office. Apparently it was too much to ask to have the keys just hanging on a ring nailed to the wall. But the place wasn’t Fort Knox. One sheriff and one deputy, both who looked like they’d seen less action than Sam had hunting monsters by the time he was thirteen. Getting Dean out of the cell wouldn’t be the hard part; the hard part would be keeping them both out of jail once the escape was discovered. Especially since they needed to find the portal.

“Okay, there’s about two hours of daylight left,” he said. “I’ll find Gabriel, get him to locate the portal if it’s in town, and then we’ll have a straight escape route.”

“And if it’s not in town?” Dean asked.

“Then we get the hell out of here.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, okay. Just, be careful, Sam. That Dalton guy’s got it in for us. If he catches you up to something…”

“I’ll be fine,” Sam assured him. “Besides, I’m not leaving you here.” He took a deep breath and turned for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob to look over his shoulder. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

Dean just nodded, jaw stiff with conviction that his little brother would get him out of this mess. And dammit, Sam would. He stepped outside and immediately headed for the saloon.

A pair of batwing doors swung inward as Sam pushed his way through them. There was a bar counter along the left wall, with three shelves full of liquor bottles behind it. The bartender wore a white apron splotched with various shades of brown and amber. A piano sat in the right back corner of the cantina, and the rest of the place was filled with several round tables, large enough to seat between four and six people. Half a dozen heads looked up from their pint glasses at Sam’s entrance. Some sneered, others looked aggrieved, though no one said anything. The pop of a cork from a bottle punctuated the silence.

Sam rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, reminding himself not to show weakness. He scanned the common area, finally spotting a head of sienna blond hair in the back near the piano. Gabriel was entertaining a different saloon girl this time, one in a royal blue dress that did an impressive job of constricting her cleavage.

Ignoring the pointed stares of the other patrons, Sam stormed over and grabbed the archangel’s shoulder, spinning him around. The drink in his hand sloshed into his lap.

“Whoa, easy partner!”

“I don’t think the portal is under her skirt,” Sam growled under his breath, and shot the woman a menacing look that sent her scampering away.

Gabriel arched a brow. “Well, that’s one place I haven’t looked yet…”

“Shut up,” Sam snapped, eyeing the men around them warily. “We need to talk, _now_.”

“What’s your hurry? Pull up a chair, have some whiskey.”

Sam clenched his fist. “Dean is set to _hang_ in the morning.”

Gabriel’s forehead creased. “Ouch.”

“This isn’t funny!” he hissed. “We need to do something.”

“That’s always what it is with you two. We’ve been here before, remember?” Gabriel knocked back the last inch of liquor in his glass. “The only thing you two schmucks care about is saving each other, everyone else be damned.”

Sam stepped into the angel’s space, towering over him. “So was this your plan all along? Send Dean gift-wrapped straight to Michael? Trying to get back in Heaven’s good graces? I thought you weren’t taking sides.”

Gabriel’s mouth turned down, and there was a flicker of nervousness in his eye. Maybe he didn’t want to be found out. Sam figured the angels wouldn’t look kindly on the archangel’s extracurricular, _pagan_ activities.

Gabe chuckled flippantly. “Well, since you asked nicely… I’m bored with this place anyway. Too much trail dust.” He stood up, adjusting his hat and winking at the girls by the counter.

Sam followed Gabriel out of the saloon, casting guarded glances over his shoulder as they passed the other drinkers. Luckily, no one seemed intent on starting trouble.

“We can’t break Dean out until dark,” Sam started, keeping his voice low. “So let’s find the portal so we can get the hell out of here.”

“Portal’s not in town.”

Sam raised his brows at Gabriel. “What? How can you be sure if you never even left the saloon?”

The archangel rolled his eyes. “I would’ve felt a ping if it was within the town limits.”

Sam bit back a few choice names to call Gabriel right then. “So after we rescue Dean, we have to beat it out of town. Got any clue on which direction?”

Gabriel lifted one shoulder slowly. “Mhm, north.”

“North?” Sam shook his head. This was just great. His gaze landed on the two horses they’d rode in on, still at the post, thank goodness. He frowned. “It’d be easier if we had three horses.” Going to the stable for one didn’t seem like a good idea though; Trivell might report it to Dalton, who would probably do anything to make sure Dean didn’t escape his fate.

“You can conjure one, right?” Sam asked.

Gabriel gave him a canted, ‘well duh’ look, and snapped his fingers. A black steed appeared next to the mustang. Okay, great. Now all they had to do was walk into the sheriff’s office, Gabriel could spring the lock, and they’d ride off into the night.

Gabriel shook his head and blinked several times as though clearing brain fog.

A rock dropped into the pit of Sam’s stomach. “Gabriel? You okay?”

“Pft, of course,” he replied. “Like conjuring a horse is hard.”

Sam eyed him warily. “So, you’re good to put the whammy on the sheriff and snap your fingers to open Dean’s cell?”

Gabriel furrowed his brow. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun…this isn’t a game!” Sam wished he could strangle the archangel. Or punch him. Or light him on fire with holy oil.

“Oh come on. We need to make a daring prison break here.” He raised a hand to Sam’s protest. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll get everything in place. You just wait here for my signal.”

Sam sputtered as Gabriel started heading away. “What signal?”

The archangel pivoted to walk backwards. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

With that, he winked, and disappeared around the corner, leaving Sam standing alone in the street. He turned in a slow circle, unsure what to do, and froze as his gaze caught on a structure several blocks down a side street, on the edge of town. A gallows. The light of the afternoon sun backlit the sheriff’s deputy on the platform as he tossed a rope over the frame and looped one end in a noose.

Sam swallowed hard. If Gabriel didn’t come through in the next couple hours, he needed to figure out a Plan B.


	4. Prison Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel has a plan...and that's never a good thing.

Sam alternated between pacing a worn track in the dirt, leaning against the wood post, and picking at a loose thread in his shirt. His negative vibes must’ve been catching, because the horses had begun fidgeting restlessly as well. Or maybe they were hungry. Sam briefly considered trying to find some hay or grain, but he didn’t want to run into Dalton at the stable again. He just hoped the three animals would have the stamina to carry them in their getaway.

Which was not going to be as easy as Sam had hoped, even if they managed to free Dean without a hitch. For as the sun set, he realized that horses didn’t come with headlights and there were no lanterns or streetlights set outside the town limits. The countryside was gradually swallowed in inky darkness that would make navigating it difficult. ‘Course, that also meant it’d be difficult for anyone to pursue them before morning. An hour after the sun had disappeared, however, a half-moon crested the mountains in the east. At least they wouldn’t be riding completely blind.

People petered out of the saloon to stumble home drunk. No one spoke to Sam, which he was grateful for. If they wondered why he’d been standing outside for three hours, they didn’t comment loud enough for him to overhear. Maybe no one would ever suspect him of trying to break his brother out of jail. A coyote’s howl broke the silence in what felt like a chilling herald of doom to come.

He started pacing again. Where the hell was Gabriel? If Sam hadn’t seen how pissed Kali seemed with the archangel, he might believe he and Dean had been duped, and this was just another lesson the Trickster was trying to teach them. But Gabriel was a drama queen, so it was the little things he was trying to cover up—like the black eye, or his apparent dizzy spell—that made Sam suspicious.

His fingers snagged the loose thread, which he’d managed to unravel three inches, and began worrying at it again when a concussive thunderclap sundered the air and shook the ground. Sam whipped around as a building several blocks down exploded. The horses jerked, almost knocking into him. Blazing orange crackled across the midnight sky, scattering embers to the wind as splintered wood and brick bombarded nearby structures.

Sam stared slack-jawed for several long moments. The initial fire receded to burn dully within the center of the ruins, spewing smoke into the air to blot out the stars. Shouts suddenly filled the night as people burst from their homes and began running toward the scene. Sam looked around helplessly, unsure what to do.

“Looks like someone’s trying to rob the bank,” Gabriel’s voice spoke from behind.

Sam whirled on the archangel, eyes widening. “ _That_ was your signal?”

Gabriel leaned sideways to peer at the devastation. “Okay, I may have used too much dynamite.”

“Are you insane?” Sam sputtered. They needed a clean, quiet getaway, not to get the entire town out of bed!

“Come on, it’s the perfect distraction!” Gabriel waggled his brows. “Now hurry up, Hoss. We got Little Joe to save.” He hopped forward, unslung the three reins from the post, and began leading the horses away from the blaze. Sam had no choice but to follow the deranged angel around the corner and up the street to the sheriff’s office. They skirted the edges of the buildings, keeping to the shadows, and left the horses in the side alley.

Gabriel practically skipped up to the door and barged in, but thankfully the place was empty. Whoever had been on duty had probably rushed off to investigate the explosion.

Dean stood in the tiny jail cell, pacing like a caged lion. “What the hell is going on?”

“What’s it look like?” Gabriel quipped. “We’re bustin’ outta here.”

Dean arched his brows, hope flitting across his face. “What was that noise?”

“Gabriel’s idea of a distraction,” Sam groused.

“Can’t have anyone come running when they hear this.” Gabriel reached inside his vest and pulled out a stick of dynamite.

Dean took a step back. “Are you friggin’ kidding me?”

Sam lashed out to grip the angel’s arm. “You’ll blow Dean up! Just use your mojo.”

“This is a genuine means of executing a jailbreak.”

“It’s a debunked myth!”

Gabriel grinned devilishly. “But this is Hollywood, baby. They defy logic all the time.”

Sam and Dean exchanged alarmed looks. What the hell were they supposed to do? Gabriel was jamming the dynamite in a chink in the wall where the bars were attached and pulling out a matchstick. Oh god, he was going to get them all killed.

Sam gestured frantically for Dean to get down in the opposite corner, and moved around to the outside of the cell to crouch next to his brother.

“Sam, no, get outside.”

He shook his head firmly. If Gabriel was going to blow them up, he wasn’t leaving. Dean glowered at him, which Sam pointedly ignored. He heard the match strike and smelled the smoke. There was a fizzle as Gabriel lit the fuse, and then the archangel darted across the room to take cover behind the desk.

“Fire in the hole!”

Sam threw his arms up over his head and braced himself, though it did little to prepare for the actual explosion that ripped through the room a moment later. The impact slammed into Sam, throwing him back against the wall. Pain lanced through his shoulder, but he was fairly certain the worst it had done was bruise. Bits of wood pelted him and his ears were left ringing. When he brought his arms down, cloying smoke filled his nose and throat, eliciting a bout of coughs.

“Dean!” Sam gasped, reaching through the bars for his brother.

Dean lifted his head, waving a hand to clear the smoke around his head. “I’m okay.” They both turned toward the back wall where a nice chunk had been decimated.

Gabriel stood up from behind the desk, grinning. “What’d I tell you?”

Sam scrunched his face up, resisting the urge to chew out the idiotic archangel. He really hoped no one had noticed that. Maybe initial reactions would think it’d been a secondary explosion at the bank, though Sam wasn’t about to admit _that_ had been a good idea.

“Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

Dean carefully picked his way over chunks of wall and twisted iron to slip through the hole Gabriel had blown. They were six feet from making a clean escape when the door slammed open and the deputy stood there, gaping. Fumbling hands whipped out his pistol and aimed it at them.

“Don’t move!”

_Dammit!_

Gabriel held up his hands. “Whoa, this ain’t what it looks like.” The deputy looked at them in bewilderment, and Gabriel angled his head over his shoulder at the rubble. “Okay, maybe it is…”

Sam flicked his gaze to Dean to formulate a plan. They could _not_ allow themselves to be apprehended again. With one look, both brothers surged forward, taking the deputy by surprise. The gun went off as Sam grabbed the guy’s arm and slammed it against the door frame. The pistol clattered to the floor, and Dean clocked the deputy in the head, dropping him next to it a second later. They glanced at each other. Time to get out, _now_.

“Hey,” Gabriel spoke up indignantly. “You could’ve shot me.”

Sam scowled before stepping outside and checking the street. It was empty. He waved at Dean to follow, and they hurried around the side of the building to where the horses were. Sam could still hear chaotic noises from a block over where the bank was, and begrudgingly appreciated the distraction. Mounting up, he winced as he landed in the saddle. God, he hoped they wouldn’t have to ride far to find the portal. Though at this point he was beginning to doubt such a backdoor even existed.

Gabriel tossed a triumphant look their way before nudging his horse into action, and the three of them stole away into the night.

* * *

Gabriel led the Winchesters over wild terrain for an hour before stopping at a thick patch of woodsy area. He figured the town sheriff would be too busy to come looking for them soon, not to mention their tracks wouldn’t be visible until morning. Though, their daring escape was surely worthy of a hefty bounty being put on their heads, which could attract the attention of bounty hunters and even US marshals. What could he say? The Trickster never did anything in halfsies.

Except, making a big splash hadn’t been his only motivation for blowing up the bank. Conjuring that horse had actually taken effort…and left him feeling _tired_. Archangels did not _get tired_. Damn Kali and her trick. She’d caught him with his pants down and now there was no telling how much influence she had over his powers. Obviously, he could still do things, but until he was safely out of this dimension, Gabriel wasn’t sure he wanted to test his limitations. Not that he was gonna admit he had any to Tweedledee and Tweedledum. So he’d scrounged up some dynamite the old-fashioned way, set the charge, and pulled off a pretty impressive jailbreak if he did say so himself.

He dismounted in a small clearing and stretched his muscles. “Good news, chaps. I’m picking up portal waves on radar, so we’re headed in the right direction.”

“Finally,” Dean muttered as he hobbled toward a tree to sit down. Gabriel suppressed a chuckle; he should’ve stuck the Winchesters in an old Western sooner.

He heard Sasquatch stumble around and let out an oath as something soft—probably a toe—stubbed into something rock solid.

“Can’t you conjure a flashlight or something?” Sam carped. Jeez, the kid was in a bad mood. You’d think he’d be _grateful_ Gabriel had saved his brother, rather than being grumpy over the methods.

“Sorry, this ain’t a sci-fi crossover,” Gabriel said unapologetically. “Gotta stick to period consistency.” He quirked his mouth in consideration though. A campfire would be nice. Roast some s’mores. But he’d have to materialize the marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. Which he _could_ do, absolutely, no problem. With a regretful sigh, Gabriel dismissed the idea. No reason to tempt fate by sending up a flare on their location anyway.

The Winchesters settled against a large tree and gradually slipped into a light sleep. Gabriel let them. Not out of any sense of kindness; he could just use some peace and quiet now that he was indefinitely stuck with the two stooges.

He watched pinpricks of stars through the canopy of leaves, and remembered a time when his existence had been nothing but light and beauty and music. When it was quiet like this, he could almost hear the euphonic chorus of angel voices, singing praise to their Father…

Gabriel quickly shoved the memories down. He didn’t like to think about Heaven, about what he’d lost. There was a reason he’d skipped out. Besides, he’d been having a good run on earth…mostly. There were a few regrets. One of which had currently come back to bite him in the ass.

He sighed. Somehow, he doubted flowers and chocolate would be able to fix this situation. And by the time pre-dawn’s light painted the eastern horizon in pale blues, Gabriel knew Kali was meaner with the plot twists than he was—an echo of a horse’s whinny shattered the early morning tranquility as a group of riders crested a hillock in the distance.

“Up and at ‘em, boys!” Gabriel bounced over and mussed Sam’s hair. “We’ve got company.”

Dean blinked wearily. “What? Who?”

“A posse by the looks of ‘em.”

Sam scrambled to his feet and looked out between the trees. Twelve riders were still a mile away, but closing in fast. He whirled back to Gabriel. “We should have made a quieter escape!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively. Too late to change it now. Not that he figured it would’ve made a difference in the long run. He untangled his horse’s reins from a bush and swung up into the saddle. At least the portal was within range. It was definitely time to close the curtain on this shindig.

He waited a moment for the boys to mount up as well—sheesh, when did he start _caring_ whether they were keeping up or not? Then Gabriel kicked his horse into a trot and ventured deeper into the woods.

The large group of riders pursuing them shouldn’t have been able to follow through the thicket, and they most certainly shouldn’t have been able to ride around quickly enough to cut them off. But hey, this was television, and events didn’t always make sense when writers tried to force a showdown. So Gabriel shouldn’t have been surprised when a man leaped out from behind a tree with a yell, and Gabriel’s horse reared back sharply, throwing the archangel from the saddle. He hit the ground hard enough to rattle his spine and knock the wind from his lungs, and that _did_ surprise him.

More men swarmed out of the trees to surround them, several pairs of hands grabbing the Winchesters and dragging them off their horses. The soft thud of fists pounding flesh hit Gabriel’s ears before a commanding voice rang out.

“That’s enough.”

The posse parted as that Dalton character rode into their midst. As far as villains went, he wasn’t all that impressive.

Gabriel pushed himself up onto his elbow. “Okay, you caught us. Congratulations, we’ll throw you a parade.”

Dalton’s lip curled up in a sneer. “You messed up this time, boys. Not even your pa can get you out of this one.”

Gabriel frowned. Was that Kali’s idea of a veiled metaphor? Pft, little did she know _Dad_ didn’t help his kids get out of _anything_.

Dalton turned his attention toward Dean, eyes flaring with hatred. “I told you I would see you hang.”

Two men suddenly dragged the elder Winchester to his feet. Someone tossed a rope over a tree branch above and tied one end in a noose before slipping it over Dean’s head. The other was secured to Dean’s horse.

Sam surged to his feet, only to be restrained by three cowboys. “No!”

_Aw, crap_. Gabriel tried to get up, but found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Hm, what was the likelihood _that_ would hurt…?

Dean struggled, but another guy wrenched his hands behind his back and tied another cord around them. “Gabriel!” he shouted in a half-threat, half-plea.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out, fellas.” Gabriel rocked onto his side, intending to knock the gun out of the gangly youth’s hand. Dalton dismounted and sucker punched Gabriel in the side of the head. His skull rattled painfully and a few stars burst across his vision. He reached up to hold his temple. Oh, that _sucked_.

“Dean!” Sam was shouting as he struggled against his captors, but they’d begun hammering him. Two hits to the stomach, and the younger Winchester was doubled over on his knees.

Dean squirmed and let out a gasp as the noose tightened around his neck.

Okay, even Gabriel had to admit this was going too far. With a burst of angelic agility, he leaped to his feet and clocked the kid with the gun, sending him flying through the air. Two guys tackled him to the ground in response, just as Dalton smacked the horse’s rear, and the animal went charging away, snapping the rope taut.


	5. 3:10 to...Jupiter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the channel changes, but things don't necessarily get better...

“Dean!” Sam screamed as his brother was yanked upward. The noose caught under Dean’s chin and up behind his ears. With a horrible, strangled gasp, his face burst into red as he choked, feet twitching thirty inches off the ground. ****

Sam threw one guy off and punched the second, a desperate surge of adrenaline giving him strength. More guys tried to subdue him, but Sam fought his way toward Dean. He ducked under his flailing brother and grabbed his legs. Bracing his shoulder under Dean’s hip, Sam tried to hold him up enough to ease the pressure on his neck. Dammit, he needed a way to cut the rope!

“Gabriel!”

The archangel was going full Jean-Claude Van Damme on the cowboys around him, grabbing arms mid-swing and snapping bones. He delivered a single punch to a guy’s cranium with an audible crack, and the poor bastard went down without getting a single blow in.

Dean was squirming in Sam’s arms, body frantically fighting for escape, for oxygen, which was only making it more difficult for Sam to support him. Someone tackled him then, shoving Sam to the ground. He thrashed to get back up to Dean, who was turning a terrifying shade of purple.

Gabriel wrenched a pistol from some dude’s hand, cracked the butt across his face, and then aimed the gun up toward Dean. Sam’s heart dropped into his stomach as the shot rang through the trees. The rope snapped with a twang, and Dean dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Sam kicked his assailant away. Hands flailing, he brushed a tree branch and scooped it up to bash the guy over the head. Once he was down, Sam scrambled to his brother. _Please be breathing. Please be breathing._

He rolled Dean over, shaking fingers fumbling to get the noose off. Dean let out a massive gasp and began hacking violently. _Thank God!_ Sam fisted one hand in Dean’s shirt to hold him up as he tried to curl in on himself.

A boot stomped on the ground next to them, and Sam looked up to find Dalton standing over them. “You took my brother from me, so I’m gonna take yours.” He raised his gun.

Sam instinctively shifted to shield Dean, even though the barrel was aimed at his own head. He vaguely remembered what he’d said to Gabriel about delivering Dean to Michael in Heaven, and wondered if his straight shot to Hell would land him at Lucifer’s feet. Surely the archangel had the power to resurrect his body. Would the Devil then wear his empty meatsuit, or would Sam still have to give permission?

None of that seemed as important as his brother getting a bullet to the head right after him. And there was nothing Sam could do to save him. They’d both be sent with one-way tickets to their respective destinies. So when the shot fired, he started in surprise, both at the raucous report and at Dalton toppling forward. The man landed face first on the ground, a hole in his back at center mass. Gabriel stood behind him, gun smoking. Sam looked around in bewilderment at the dozen bodies lying on the ground.

Snapping out of it, he whipped his attention back to his brother. “Dean!” Sam hauled him upright, frantically cupping his face to get him to focus. Dean’s face was still red, shoulders shaking as he drew in ragged breaths. Sam bit back a curse at the scarlet necklace of rope burn that formed a grotesque smile of raw skin.

“Can you breathe?” he demanded.

Dean nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but another coughing fit cut him off. Sam had to fight down panic as he desperately kept his brother from falling over. Oh god, had his vocal cords been crushed?

Gabriel came to stand over them, for once not looking amused. “We’d better get moving before reinforcements show up.”

“Dean?” Sam questioned.

Without speaking, Dean nodded, and Sam twisted around to untie his hands. Stumbling to their feet, Sam slipped an arm around Dean’s waist to support him. A quick glance around showed their horses had scattered during the melee. _Crap_.

Gabriel noticed. “Portal’s not far,” he said.

Finally some good news. Dean was looking less like a pufferfish, so Sam tugged him after Gabriel. They trudged through increasing thicket until coming up against the base of a mountain.

“In there.” Gabriel pointed toward a mine shaft.

“Seriously?” Dean rasped, voice sounding like it’d been raked over hot coals.

Sam rolled his neck, feeling just as confident. There was nothing, no static tingle or flicker of a mirage to suggest this wasn’t just a regular cave. And at this rate, weren’t they more likely to get buried alive in some freak collapse?

A chorus of horse whinnies screeched in the distance, drawing all their gazes through a gap in the trees where a cloud of dust heralded the approach of another large group of riders.

Gabriel spread his arms. “You boys want to stay and play High Noon, be my guest. Me, I’m boarding the 3:10 to Yuma.” He strode into the cave.

Dean was still leaning heavily on him, and Sam had no desire to see him strung up again, so he staggered after the archangel, trying to brace himself for whatever came next.

The darkness of the cave lasted only a second before they blundered out into daylight. Sam pulled up short and immediately whipped his head around in search of the posse closing in, for they were still in the woods. Maybe Kali had sealed the portal and they’d been spat right back into the Wild West. Except Sam suddenly found himself dressed in green cargo pants and jacket, black vest with a dozen bulging pockets, and a P90 slung over one shoulder. The sixty pounds of gear, plus the weight of his brother and _his_ new attire almost dragged Sam to his knees.

Dean lurched a few steps before managing to right himself, and glanced down at his military garb. “What the…” He rubbed his throat, which was still inflamed, but at least his voice was starting to sound less abrasive. “Where the hell are we now? Bolivia?”

Sam scanned their surroundings, noting that these woods were a bit more lush than the one they’d just come from, with giant, lichen-covered redwoods and bushy ferns. The air was also tinged a slight orange that seemed off… Sam flicked his eyes up and froze.

“Uh, I don’t think we’re in the same galaxy,” he said shakily.

“What?” Dean followed his gaze to where a massive brown planet took up one-third of the sky. Its ocher and sepia swirls reminded Sam of Jupiter, but Jupiter didn’t have any moons that supported life.

“Where are we?” he repeated Dean’s earlier question, trying not to sound as freaked out as he felt.

Gabriel pursed his lips and shrugged. “Not in Kansas, that’s for sure.” He lifted his compact assault rifle to inspect it. “But the toys are definitely way cooler.”

“Is Cas here?” Dean asked sharply.

“Erm, nope.”

Dean clenched a fist. “Then find us the next portal before Kali sends Archies after us.”

Sam shuddered. Oh god, he hoped there weren’t brain-burrowing bugs here, though their military uniforms bore United States patches, so he was fairly certain they weren’t playing Starship Troopers. Still, alien planets did not bode well in any scenario. Sam was kinda wishing they could go back to the old Western…

Gabriel sighed dramatically. “You guys are such Debbie Downers.” He craned his neck around contemplatively, and after a moment nodded left. “This way.”

Sam exchanged a wary look with Dean. They had no way of telling whether the archangel knew what he was doing, or was faking it till he happened to stumble into the right direction. But with no other options, they had no choice but to blindly follow the Trickster.

Sam fell into step beside his brother. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Dean said roughly. His hand slowly lifted a few inches as though to subconsciously rub his neck again. He rolled his shoulder. “The Wild West wasn’t all I thought it was cracked up to be.”

Sam grimaced sympathetically. He knew Dean had always been fascinated with westerns. More so than his Dr. Sexy fetish. And despite the circumstances, Dean had enjoyed the first half of their misadventure on some level, which was more fun than he’d had in a long time. Sam knew what Hell had taken from his brother, and it killed him to watch Dean sink further into depression and drinking every day. He didn’t want the last few mental refuges Dean had to be tainted as well.

“It was just bad writing,” Sam said lamely. “I mean, look at the two douchewads who set this whole thing up.”

“I heard that,” Gabriel called over his shoulder. “And just to clarify, _I_ did not write that script back there.”

“Like your others were better,” Dean griped. “Remember the one where I got shot?”

“Pft, flesh wound.”

Sam’s jaw tightened. Performing surgery on his brother, however successful it may have turned out, wasn’t something he ever wanted to do again.

“This is all some big joke to you,” Dean continued, larynx apparently feeling better enough to get into a rant.

Gabriel halted and turned around. “Hey, I did save your hides back there.”

“You want a medal?”

“Mhm, I’d take a Pez dispenser.”

Dean stepped right up to the archangel. “Where _is_ Cas? What whacked out dimension did you think it would be ‘funny’ to stick him in?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “What is with this obsession over some insignificant little twerp?”

“Cas is not insignificant,” Sam broke in. “He’s our _friend_. Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

Gabriel pouted his lips in a childish moue. “And here I thought we had a connection, Sammy.”

Dean spun away with a low growl. Sam saw his fingers twitch toward the submachine gun. Yeah, Sam was tempted to blow a few dozen holes in the douche-angel as well, but they needed him.

Sam met his brother’s eyes and gave a subtle, sympathetic head tilt. _Fry him later._

Dean’s jaw worked as he fought to restrain himself. _Not soon enough._

Gabriel, seemingly oblivious to their silent exchange, resumed trekking through the forest. With one last tense look, the brothers fell into pace behind him.

As they walked, Sam started taking stock of their weapons. At least in this world they were heavily armed, though he had to wonder what they needed to be heavily armed _against_.

In addition to the P90s, they each had a Beretta 92, two Kabar knives—one in the vest, one in a boot—grenades, and some weird device that looked like a snake head curled into an “S” shape.

Dean unhooked it from his belt and tilted it experimentally. “Wonder what this does.”

The head suddenly sprang up and forward with a metallic screech, making both brothers jump. Dean held the thing out as far away from himself as he could, eyeing it warily. Sam shot him a pissy look. They did not need to accidentally shoot or blow themselves up with some alien weapon. Swallowing hard, Dean released his finger from the trigger, and the device retracted to its curled up “S” position.

“Ookay.” He put the thing back in its holster. “Sam, what show is this?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“You’re the nerd.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I haven’t seen _every_ sci-fi drama ever created.”

Gabriel pulled up short and held up a fist, then twirled his arm around before slapping his chest twice.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean said dubiously.

Gabriel shot them an exasperated look. “Don’t you know military hand signals?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, do you?”

“Just get down!”

“Why?”

The sound of heavy marching reached Sam’s ears before Gabriel could respond, and the archangel grabbed Dean’s arm to yank him low to the ground. Sam dropped down as well, and the three of them huddled among some ferns as flashes of metallic figures weaved among the jungle foliage. They were too far away to get a good look, but were gradually drawing closer.

Sam sucked in a breath when they finally emerged—six soldiers in full gray body armor with thin metal sheets molded to their heads. Broad chest plates stretched shoulder to shoulder and braced a neck collar that stood a good two inches away from the men’s chins. A seventh figure in the lead didn’t even look human, though he wore the same armor and had human hands. Fitted into the wide collar, however, was an iron cobra head that stood two feet taller than the other men. All of them held eight-foot-long quarterstaffs with large, almond-shaped tips.

“What are the odds they’re friendly?” Dean whispered.

“With our luck?” Sam hissed back.

Dean inclined his head in acknowledgement at that, while Gabriel shushed them. Sam reached for his P90, just in case. Maybe the troop or whatever would just pass them by.

“ _Jaffa, cree!_ ” The serpent leader waved his hand toward their position.

Or not.

“Come on, boys,” Gabriel said as he jumped to his feet, brandishing his assault rifle. “Marines don’t retreat!”

“We’re not soldiers!” Sam protested, but it was too late. Gabriel had opened fire on the encroaching guards. Semi-automatic gunfire beat out a staccato thundering through the woods. Some of the bullets ricocheted off the metal body armor like pellets, though some seemed to pierce the plates, for two guards went down.

The other guards dropped to one knee and flipped their staffs to a horizontal position. The flower bud ends suddenly split open into four cracks. A yellow glow pulsed inside before shooting out a burst of energy that struck a tree behind Sam, exploding it. He threw his arm up to protect his head as charred and splintered bits of wood pelted his back. More balls of plasma zinged through the air as Gabriel continued to fire back bullets.

Sam gripped his P90 with both hands and squeezed the trigger. The rifle’s kick jolted his shoulder, rattling his teeth with the vibrations until he was able to release the trigger. He rocked back in dismay. That was no sawed off shotgun.

“Gabriel, get us out of here!” Dean shouted above the din of weapons fire.

“We’ve been over this,” the archangel retorted. He grabbed a grenade off his vest, pulled the pin with his teeth, and lobbed it through the air. It clunked on the ground in front of a third guard and exploded a second later, sending him flying backward in a blaze of smoke.

“Quit blowing shit up!” Dean snapped. “And just zap us a mile away or something!”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and vanished, reappearing an instant later next to the Winchesters. Before he could reach two fingers to their foreheads, however, an energy ball cut through the trees and struck the angel in the shoulder. Gabriel staggered back a step, blinking dazedly.

Sam stared in stunned horror as the acrid stench of burnt flesh filled his nose. Gabriel’s shoulder was a bloody, charred mess, and for a minute, both Sam and Dean stood frozen, waiting for it to heal.

Gabriel swayed slightly and lifted his head, meeting Sam’s gaze with a rare expression of pure bafflement. He blinked again. “Ow.”

With that, the archangel toppled forward and face planted on the ground. Sam made a move to reach Gabriel’s side, but he and Dean were suddenly surrounded by the four remaining guards, all pointing those staff weapons at them.

A muscle in Dean’s jaw ticked before he threw his arms up in surrender. Sam did the same, hoping these guys took prisoners. Because the archangel up their sleeve was apparently down for the count, and how the hell had _that_ happened? Sam kept his eyes on Gabriel, hoping he wasn’t dead, hoping the Trickster was just being his usual dramatic self. Faking his death like he’d done to the Winchesters before.

But he didn’t even twitch when one of the guards kicked him with a steel-toed boot. Sam swallowed nervously and shot Dean a panicked look. They couldn’t fight their way out of this one.

“Okay, we give up,” Dean said, voice gravelly. “So…take us to your leader.”

The serpent guard stepped forward, and a high-pitched grinding accompanied the head sliding up and folding back, revealing a man inside the suit. In the center of his forehead, he had a black tattoo of a snake inside a circle with a crescent on the bottom. This close, Sam noticed the other guards had the same emblem inked on their foreheads.

“ _Jaffa, cree!_ ” he barked.

“Aren’t shows like this supposed to have a universal translator?” Dean muttered.

Sam gritted his teeth and glanced at Gabriel again. _Come on, you bastard. Get up!_

The head guard switched his staff to his other hand and reached for something on his belt. Sam’s eyes widened when he saw it was the same little snake gun they had. The head extended up and out as the leader pointed it at Dean.

“No!” Sam shouted, lunging forward. A stream of blue electricity shot out and wrapped around Dean like a contorting web of energy. He jerked and fell to the side. Sam reached for him, even as he wondered whether touching his brother would get him electrocuted, but he never got the chance, for the serpent dude shifted the weapon and fired again.

Sam pitched forward as for an agonizing moment, every nerve ending lit up like exploding fireworks. Body spasming, his eyes squeezed shut, but even so he could still see the blue squiggles zinging across his eyelids. And then blackness took him.


	6. Angels and Aliens

Every inch of Dean’s body hurt. He was laying on a cold, hard surface, though he had no idea what, where, or why. Couldn’t really bring himself to care as he lingered on the edge of full consciousness, wishing he could slip back under again, just to escape the relentless throbbing in his muscles. But that wouldn’t do him any good, nor Sam, and where was Sam? ****

Dean finally managed to pry his eyelids open, but god, even those hurt. His vision was fuzzy at first, amber smudges that slowly solidified into gold-plated walls. Dean tried to turn his head, groaning as he found his neck stiff. At least everything else hurt so much, he no longer felt the rope burn.

“Easy, Dean,” a familiar voice spoke from nearby. “Wake-up call’s a bitch, but it’ll pass in a minute.”

“Sam?” he grunted, blinking as his vision blurred when he pulled himself upright. A huge green shape filled the space in front of him, and a hand settled on his shoulder to hold him steady.

“Yeah.”

Dean reached up to grip his brother’s arm, reassuring himself Sam was really there. “You alright?”

Sam snorted softly. “Yeah, considering.”

Dean stretched his eyebrows and squinted until the room stopped bleeding colors into each other. Sam was kneeling next to him, dressed in green. Oh right, they were some kind of military people. Except their vests were gone, along with all their weapons. Of course.

“What happened?” Dean asked, scanning the room they were in. Correction: make that brig. Though ornately decorated with bronze panels etched in runes that Dean didn’t recognize, there wasn’t a single furnishing to suggest it was some kind of guest quarters. A triangular arch framed what looked like a possible door, though without handles. Place was pretty upscale compared to the sheriff’s rusty jail cell, though Dean didn’t like their chances any better in this scenario.

Sam shrugged. “Guess those snake weapons are phasers or something. Knocked us out. I woke up here maybe twenty minutes ago.” He glanced around, shoulders heaving in defeat. “Can’t find a way out. There’s no damn lock to pick, or even a computer panel to hack—not that I’d know how to access an alien one.”

“Awesome.” Dean rubbed his face, grateful the aches of being electrocuted were wearing off. His gaze landed on a prone body lying against the left wall, and he stiffened. “Gabriel?”

Sam looked over his shoulder. “He’s alive. I think. Shoulder healed anyway. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Sam pinched the bottom of his lip. “I don’t think he’s faking this time.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, okay.” _Just think._ Sure, this was bad. Probably as bad as when they’d been trapped in a church with Lucifer taking the express elevator up to Disneyland, but they weren’t completely screwed, not yet. Once Gabriel woke up, they’d have a better chance of getting out of this.

Except…what if Gabriel was now powerless in this dimension, under Kali’s thumb? Dean knocked his head back against the wall, then winced as he regretted it. “So what’s the plan?”

Sam turned around and settled next to him. “Dunno. Can’t do much until Gabe wakes up.”

“I say we leave him here.”

Sam gave him a _look_. “We can’t find the portals on our own. The last one didn’t look like anything special.” He shook his head. “We still need him. Plus, Cas…”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. _Yeah_. God, he hoped Castiel was okay. Considering how they were doing, he figured the other angel wasn’t having much of a picnic. And now that they knew for sure an archangel of Gabriel’s caliber could be wounded… No, he couldn’t let himself go there. One problem at a time. He angled his gaze at the unconscious Trickster, and debated getting up to go over and kick him. The only reason he didn’t was his body still felt sore.

A short while later, the sound of metallic marching echoed from the other side of the door, and the wall under the arch suddenly split in two and slid back. An older man in the same full body armor, steel head plate, and giant staff in hand stepped inside the cell. The symbol on his forehead was raised gold, which Dean guessed signified rank. Dean and Sam jumped to their feet, exchanging wary looks. _Game on._

The man fixed them with a stony glare. He had a white beard and mustache, and pockmarked cheeks. “Leave us,” he said to the two guards behind him.

“Oh, now someone speaks English,” Dean muttered.

The silent, stoic figures turned on their heels and marched back into the hall, letting the door slide shut behind them. Dean flicked his gaze to Sam. _Think we can take one old man?_

A muscle in Sam’s jaw ticked, clearly not thinking highly of that plan.

“You should not be here,” the man said sharply.

“Tell us about it.”

The guard tilted his head at Dean in ten-percent confusion, ninety-percent irritation. It reminded him bitterly of Cas. Dean shoved that thought far down where it couldn’t distract him.

“So what now?” he asked, spreading his arms.

The man shook his head. “I am working on a plan of escape, but you must understand it will not be easy. However, I have a few men within Apophis’s ranks I can trust.”

Dean held up a hand. “Wait, you’re gonna help us?”

“I will attempt it. Fortunately, Apophis will not execute you right away. He first wishes to know how your companion miraculously healed of his injuries, though he carries no symbiote.” The guard nodded to Gabriel, brows drawing together in consideration.

Dean threw his brother a questioning look. _Symbiote?_

Sam shrugged before answering the man, “It’s, uh, kinda hard to explain.”

Dean snorted. Like angels was a far cry from aliens.

“In any case,” the man continued. “You will be questioned, likely tortured. But you must resist until I am able to act.”

Dean’s brows shot up. “Excuse me? Get us the hell out of here before that part!”

The guard drew his shoulders back. “I may not be able to without revealing myself. A great many lives depend on my maintaining position as Apophis’s First Prime; I will not endanger them because you could not exercise restraint in coming to this world.”

He threw his arms up. “It wasn’t our choice!”

“Dean,” Sam said in a low tone. He turned to the guard. “We appreciate you trying.”

The man gave a sharp nod. “I shall return.” He did a one-eighty, and the doors parted for him, then zipped shut again.

“Sam?” Dean asked, wanting to know what the hell his brother was thinking. By the crease in his brow, it couldn’t be good.

Sam shifted his weight. “I hate to say it, but what if the portal is somewhere inside…whatever this place is? We might need to…you know, get a look around.”

Dean curled his hands into fists and began to pace. By ‘get a look around,’ Sam meant take a walk to the torture chamber. But dammit, his brother had a point. Escaping wouldn’t do them much good if they had to waltz back in to channel hop their way out of this alien hell hole. The prospect of torture though…Dean had had his fair share in the Pit. So yeah, he could withstand some here. After all, compared to the denizens of Hell, how creative could aliens be? But if those sons-of-bitches came anywhere near Sam…

Dean suddenly whirled and marched toward Gabriel, drawing back his boot and kicking the archangel in the ribs.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, sounding appalled.

“Wake up!” he persisted, pressing his heel into Gabriel’s stomach—albeit more gently. Gabriel moaned, a deep guttural noise that didn’t sound fake. Dean squatted down and poked his shoulder. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”

Gabriel’s eyelids fluttered open, but he quickly squeezed them shut again, pressing his palms to his face. “Ungh, anyone get the license plate of the mothership that hit me?”

Dean’s stomach clenched; he hadn’t even considered they might have been transferred to a _spaceship_.

Sam came to stand behind him. “You okay?”

Gabriel groaned, a tad more melodramatically this time.

“How’s it feel to be on the receiving end?” Dean said, taking petty pleasure in the archangel being knocked down a few pegs.

Gabriel removed his hands and cracked an eye to give an unamused glare, then propped himself up on his elbows. “What’d I miss?”

“We’re prisoners of some guy named Apophis,” Sam answered. “Though apparently one of the guards is secretly on our side, and said he’ll try to help us escape.”

Gabriel quirked a brow. “The Egyptian god, Apophis? I thought we were fighting aliens.”

“Egyptian god?” Dean repeated dubiously.

“Yeah, god of death.” Gabriel sat all the way up, casting a rueful look at the gaping hole in his jacket. Dean wondered why he didn’t patch it up with a mere thought. “Riot at parties. Haven’t seen him since the unfortunate incident of the gallon of glue and pink sequins though.”

Dean just shook his head; great, more friggin’ gods. “He in league with Kali?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Please, she has much better taste than that old geezer.”

Dean gave him a pointed look. “Wouldn’t seem so.”

“Can we focus?” Sam snapped. “We’re still in TV land, right? So I doubt an actual pagan god is playing around here.” He turned to Gabriel. “Can you sense the portal?”

Gabriel cocked his head and made a slow motion of rolling his neck in a full circle. “Sorry, no dice. Though, uh, my range seems to have been reduced.”

Dean straightened. “What? Why?”

Gabriel scowled. “You try getting shot with an alien laser.”

“So your batteries are drained.” Dean rocked back, swallowing a slew of curses. It figured. Gabriel was practically useless now, and Dean had half a mind to dump him the next chance they got.

“Not drained so much as signal reception is spotty while I’m in this dimension. I can still find the portal, don’t worry your pretty little head.”

“But you can’t get us out of this dungeon.” Dean pushed himself to his feet and began to pace.

Gabriel pursed his lips in appreciation. “Nice digs, though. Could use some beanbag chairs. A wet bar.”

Dean pivoted and shot Sam a look. _I’m going to barbecue him, first chance I get._

Sam shrugged in understanding. “So we wait for whatever happens next?” he posited to them both.

As though on cue, armored footsteps sounded from the other side of the door. Gabriel grinned as he pulled himself up. “Those would be the magic words.”

Dean went to stand beside his brother, shoulders drawn back and tense as he waited for the doors to open. When they slid apart, his back stiffened; six guards stood on the other side, none the face of the old man who’d planned to help them. Three moved in, chain mail clinking as they surrounded the Winchesters and Gabriel, quarterstaffs erect. Damn things still looked threatening though.

“Move!” one of the guards snapped.

Dean glanced at Sam, who subtly cocked his head. They weren’t going to find the portal sitting in this cell. As he stepped forward, Dean shot Gabriel a meaningful look that the archangel had better be on the lookout.

The guards led them out into a corridor that was also ornate bronze and gilded gold. There were no windows, so Dean couldn’t tell if they were on a spaceship. He really hoped not.

After being herded down several passageways, they finally entered what looked like a throne room. Four black pillars supported a thirteen-foot, pyramidal ceiling. Six guards, in addition to the entourage accompanying the Winchesters, stood in two rows to the left and right. Against the back wall was a dais with an ostentatious throne, every inch of its gold-plated surface etched in symbols. A dark-skinned man sat on it, wearing armor similar to the guards, only his was gold in color, as was the metal sheet sculpted to his scalp. He bore no tattoo in the center of his forehead, however.

Sam swept his gaze around the chamber. “Some of this stuff looks genuinely Egyptian,” he said quietly.

Really? Dean glanced at the decor. Well, his little brother would know. So this was some kind of conglomerate of American military, alien planets, and Egyptian lore…Dean might have to tune into this show. If they survived it.

“My lord, Apophis,” the lead guard said, delivering a quick bow. “The warriors of the Tau’ri.”

Chin held high, the king or whatever gazed down at his prisoners disdainfully. When he opened his mouth to speak, Dean jerked in surprise at the deep, flanged resonance that filled the chamber like one of those voice distorters that stalkers used.

“Bow before your god.”

Dean’s jaw went slack. “You’ve got to be friggin’ kidding me.”

A guard struck the back of his legs with his staff, driving him to the floor painfully. Two others moved forward, forcing Sam down next to him, and Gabriel on the other side.

Gabriel shot a black look over his shoulder. “Low blow, Kali,” he uttered under his breath. Probably only the Winchesters heard him.

“So this is dear old dad,” Dean said, unable to help himself, despite Sam’s quelling glare. “I see the family resemblance—you know, in the dick gene.”

Gabriel’s expression looked primed to smite. Hey, maybe if he got pissed off enough, his powers would kick in and they could get out of this mess.

“Silence!” Apophis’s eyes glowed briefly, and damn if that wasn’t freaky.

Dean quickly scanned the chamber for pockmarked dude, but couldn’t spot him. Not that he was gonna bet the bank on some character he didn’t even know. Still, he didn’t like their odds, unarmed and three against thirteen. _Okay, so play your role. What would Jesus do?_ Or whoever he was—a Colonel based on the patch on his jacket. Surely some badass Air Force guy could come up with a halfway decent plan of escape…

Nope, Dean had nothing.

Apophis gestured to one of his attendants, who walked up and presented the “god” with what looked like a television remote, only with a small screen and keypad. Dean recognized it from their gear; he just hadn’t known what it was. Would it be too much to ask that it could change the channel they were in?

“What is the code to unlock the gate to Earth?”

Dean fidgeted. He honestly couldn’t care less about selling out a fake home planet if he thought it would save him and Sam, but they didn’t actually _know_ anything. He tried imagining he really was an Air Force Colonel, just to see if he could subconsciously tap into the right answer, but the moment he did, the overwhelming urge to tell Apophis to stick it jumped to his tongue, along with the knowledge that he would die before giving up that information. Great, playing his role meant being a martyr. Awesome.

One glance at Sam showed his brother had more or less attempted the same, if the distressed look in his eyes was anything to go by.

“Okay, you got me,” Gabriel spoke up. “It’s my birthday. Not original, I know, but easy to remember.”

Apophis stood abruptly. “You. You do not carry a symbiote, yet your wound healed without the aid of a sarcophagus. How?”

“Oh, that…”

Dean threw Sam a questioning look, but his brother seemed equally confused. Dean may not have had the same education as his brother, but he was pretty damn sure a sarcophagus was an Egyptian coffin, _not_ used in healing…

“Have you guys ever heard of angels?” Dean asked.

Gabriel made a small noise of outrage, while Apophis simply stared at him blankly.

“Guess not.”

Apophis’s voice boomed out, “You think to usurp my power by possessing the abilities of the gods?”

“I’m confused,” Dean muttered. “Are we dealing with gods or aliens?”

“Aliens pretending to be gods?” Sam replied in a hushed voice.

Dean rolled his eyes. “That Kali bitch has a real sense of humor.”

Apophis’s eyes flashed that eerie gold again. “You speak of Kali the System Lord?”

“Uh,” Dean stammered. “Maybe?”

Apophis descended the dais in a fury. “Does she seek to declare war against me by allying herself with the Tau’ri?”

Dean grimaced. He didn’t know who the “Tau’ri” were, though he could guess the pissed off deity was referring to them. Jeez, how was he supposed to answer the question? They’d been stuck in the middle of some episode around mid-season without a recap.

“We’re not allied with Kali,” Sam put in. “Uh, she stranded us here.”

Apophis tilted his head back, skewering them with those intense eyes. Seriously, the guy looked like he could blow steam out his ears.

“Then she has honored me with the gift of capturing you.”

Dean grumbled in his throat. There was just nothing they could say that would get them out of this.

Apophis raised a hand, and one of the guards strode stiffly forward to stand at attention. “You will divulge the secrets of the Tau’ri.” With that, the guard pulled his tunic open, revealing a stomach carved into four diagonal slits. There was a soft squishing sound, and Dean almost threw up as some kind of worm stuck its head out. Beside him, Sam made a similar gagging noise.

Apophis gripped the snake’s neck and pulled it all the way out. Webbed ears fanned out on the side of its head as it hissed.

“Oh, this cannot be good.” Dean craned around in search of escape.

Apophis stepped forward. “Which one of you shall be the new host for my son?”

“Host?” Sam sputtered.

“ _Son?_ ” Dean stared in growing horror at the writhing snake. Oh, he was so done with this shit. “Gabriel, get us the hell off this ride, right now!”

“Um…”

Apophis’s lip curled up, and he shifted to face the archangel. “There is only room for one god.”

Gabriel gulped. “Whoa, wait a minute. Can’t we talk about this?”

Dean and Sam exchanged horrified looks as the alien-god-whatever extended his arm toward the angel, and the worm stretched its jaws into a gaping maw.


	7. Beam Me Up, Scotty

 

Sam recoiled as Apophis drew closer to Gabriel with the contorting snake. Why wasn’t the archangel putting a stop to this? In fact, Gabriel actually looked _freaked_ as he tried to squirm away, but two guards grabbed his shoulders to hold him still. Sam had no idea what was about to happen, but he could guess from “host” and “symbiote” that this worm was some kind of parasite.

“Uh, I’m not lookin’ for a roommate,” Gabriel quipped, though the hitch in his voice belied his trepidation.

Sam’s eyes grew wider. Now would be a really good time for Gabriel to unleash his angelic mojo. Unless he couldn’t…

Sam shot a panicked look at Dean. _What do we do?_

His brother’s jaw was tight with determination, but they were sorely outnumbered and outgunned. Surely some alien bug couldn’t actually _do_ anything to an angel…right?

“Gabriel?” Sam said nervously.

The archangel’s usual cheeky and flippant demeanor had been replaced with outright agitation. “Listen, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Apophis’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, you will.”

The snake hissed, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, not willing to watch whatever was coming next. But then there was a familiar screech, followed by a ‘brrp.’ Sam’s eyes flew open just as a yellow energy ball shot through the air and struck the dangling symbiote out of Apophis’s hand. It landed in a charred, smoking heap a few feet away. Apophis whipped his head to the side, and Sam followed his gaze to where the pockmarked man from the dungeon stood, staff weapon brandished.

“Bra’tac! You dare betray your god?”

“When they are false gods,” the man declared, drawing his shoulders back and meeting the eyes of his fellow soldiers. The shocked silence was heavy and palpable. “Behold the true nature of the Goa’uld.” He gestured to the decimated snake.

“Jaffa,” Apophis bellowed, eyes flaring gold with wrath. “ _Cree_!”

Eight guards leveled their weapons at Bra’tac, while four shifted uncertainly. The old man didn’t appear daunted, but only held his head high. Sam held his breath, expecting for the guy to get executed right in front of them, but then four additional guards charged in from the corridor, quarterstaffs primed to fire, and the throne room suddenly lit up with the glow and sizzle of plasma balls.

Sam twisted around, grabbed the lower half of the staff belonging to the guard behind him, and wrenched it out of the guy’s grip. Twirling it around, Sam clubbed him in the face with the heavy, bulbous end.

The guard behind Dean drew his handheld serpent gun, so Sam spun and whacked him across the back. His bulky form pitched forward, tumbling over Dean’s head and flattening him on the floor. As Dean struggled to get out from underneath, Sam knelt to cover him and braced the staff weapon on his knee. His fingers slid over the metallic rod, searching for a trigger, but dammit, he couldn’t find one.

Dean finally wriggled free and scooped up the snake gun. Bracing it with both hands, he began firing spurts of blue squiggles in multiple directions. Sam searched for one of those voltage shooting pistols instead, and spotted Gabriel rolling behind a pillar as a plasma ball struck the floor where he’d been a split moment before. Sparks showered the throne room, now smeared with scorch marks and filled with hazy smoke.

Sam’s hand finally found a notch, and he felt the quarterstaff thrum as an energy ball formed in the almond head. The kick wasn’t as bad as the P90, but the eight-foot staff was cumbersome, and as the head fired, it tipped like a seesaw. The energy ball went wide, exploding the throne behind Apophis. Sam met the gaze of one very pissed off Egyptian god, and swallowed hard.

Apophis raised his hand, which bore some kind of gold circlet with a red gem centered in the palm. It began to glow, and an invisible force suddenly punched Sam in the chest, propelling him backward through the air. He hit the ground and slid several feet before being stopped by a wall, the impact radiating down his spine. Damn; demons, angels, aliens—why did they _all_ have to have that annoying power?

Groaning, Sam rolled over and tried to shake the stars from his vision. Through the growing fog of smoke and rising smell of soot, he saw the bodies of soldiers dropping, bloodied and blackened. Too bad he couldn’t tell which ones were on their side.

Sam pushed himself up, searching for their supposed ally. The old man was swinging his staff around, alternating between clubbing and shooting with it. Five guards lay at his feet. Maybe they’d actually get out of this.

Sam should have known better.

Apophis aimed that hand device, ruby glowing, and Bra’tac staggered before going rigid. His cheeks puffed as though he were physically struggling to regain control, but the alien device seemed to have paralyzed him. Apophis strode forward menacingly, arm outstretched, until he stood three feet from the old man. Bra’tac’s face pinched as he slowly sank to his knees.

Dean aimed his snake gun and fired a burst of blue electricity at the Egyptian god. Only it smacked into some invisible barrier, wriggling over an oscillating gold bubble. Dean stared dumbfounded.

Apophis spared him a choleric glare before focusing on Bra’tac and bearing down on him with the glowing ruby in his palm.

The old man forced himself to remain upright, posture and expression defiant despite being forced to kneel. “I. Die. Free.”

_Shit, shit, shit._ Their odds of survival were drastically dropping. Sam twisted around in search of an exit. Most of the guards had been dealt with, so while Apophis was occupied with Bra’tac, they could feasibly get away. But from what Sam had seen between the dungeon and throne room, the place was a labyrinth. And suppose they were actually on a spaceship, _in space_ …

Playing their role wasn’t going to cut it this time. No, they needed an express exit.

Spotting a knife sticking out of a fallen guard’s belt, Sam quickly snatched it up. He caught his brother’s gaze and cocked his head sharply for them to get to Gabriel, who was still crouched behind a pillar on the other side of the chamber. Dean gave a subtle nod, and the two of them darted around the prone bodies, just as reinforcements started pouring in. _But of course._

Gabriel had found a serpent gun on his own, and began firing at the newcomers. He jerked in surprise as the Winchesters dropped down next to him.

“Having fun yet?” Dean growled at him.

The archangel rolled his eyes and fired off two more electric bursts.

Sam ignored them both, focusing instead on slicing his palm with the knife. Warm blood welled up, and he inhaled sharply at the sting. This was probably a monumentally stupid idea, but it wouldn’t be a Winchester Hail Mary if it wasn’t. He began smearing his blood on the floor, twisting his wrist and sweeping his index finger in whorls and curves.

Energy spurts flew over his head, striking the column and walls and rattling his ears with their concussive force. Sam forced the fear and panic down.

“Dude, what—” Dean started.

Sam whipped his head up to meet his brother’s confused look. “Hold on tight!” With that, he took his other hand and grabbed Gabriel’s wrist. Dean’s eyes widened a split second before he caught on and lunged for the archangel, nearly knocking Gabriel on his ass.

“Whoa!” Gabriel cried. “Wh—”

Sam slammed his palm down on the blood sigil.

* * *

When the Winchester brothers yanked on Gabriel’s arms, he’d barely formed an indignant protest before white-hot agony speared through his chest, down to his true form like a meat hook. The violent force tried to slingshot him into the ether, but with the two human weights latched to his limbs, and the sudden surge of lightning as they crashed into the boundary of the pocket dimension, Gabriel felt the rending of tissue as wings were snapped taut beyond normal capacity. Air rushed around him, but the blinding pain and disorientation prevented him from trying to stop his fall. He vaguely heard human screams as he and his passengers hurtled to the ground.

Gabriel landed flat on his back, the impact expelling all the oxygen from his lungs, which already felt as though they were on fire. Not that he needed to breathe, but damn did that _hurt_. A pitiful keening sound filled his ears, and as soon as he realized it was coming from him, he choked it off. He vaguely heard groans and cracking twigs around him. _Good_ , he thought. He was going to _kill_ those idiots. No one in the history of Heaven had ever dared to use a banishing sigil on him before. Gabriel may have been a goof-off, but he could also be deadly. In fact, he was going to roast whoever taught those two mud-monkeys the sigil. Probably that twerp, Castiel.

Pushing past the vibrating pain, Gabriel rolled onto his side. Dean Winchester was seven feet away, sitting on his rump in a bed of ferns and looking woozy.

“Sammy?” he called worriedly.

“Here,” came a gruff response from Gabriel’s right, and gigantor Winchester stumbled to his feet. He failed to remain upright though, and pitched against a tree. “You okay, Dean?”

“Is _he_ okay?” Gabriel seethed. “Are you insane? What the hell were you thinking back there?”

“I was thinking we were either about to have giant holes blasted through our chests or snakes stuck in our heads,” Sam retorted. “You didn’t seem all that excited for the latter, so you’re welcome.”

“Are we…” Dean started. “In Heaven then?”

“No,” Gabriel bit out, finally sitting up straight. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what rankled him more: that he’d been smacked around like a ping pong ball, or that the sigil meant to send angels back to Heaven hadn’t penetrated Kali’s hold on the pocket dimension. Not that he wanted to show up in front of the pearly gates with Michael’s _and_ Lucifer’s vessels in tow. There’d be a homecoming for him one day, and that wasn’t it.

“We’re still in TV land, and still in that sci-fi channel,” he grumped.

Sam looked up through the tree tops as though to check. Gabriel rolled his eyes; yes, the orbiting planet was still there.

“At least we’re not prisoners of some psycho, wannabe god,” Dean said.

“No, just prisoners of a real psycho god,” Sam clipped, earning a dirty look from his brother.

Gabriel grumbled under his breath. As much as he hated to admit it, they’d been in some pretty deep shit back there that he’d been incapable of getting them out of. His grace was curled up in a tiny, exhausted ball after healing him from that staff wound, which really shouldn’t have taken that much effort, dammit. Gabriel didn’t think he could actually be killed here, but he could quite possibly be reduced to a broken, mangled bag of bones. And boy did that not sound fun.

The three of them eventually managed to stumble to their feet and regain their balance. Gabriel was practically mortal in that regard, which soured his mood even further. As the Winchesters looked around to get their bearings, Sam let out a small gasp. Gabriel glanced over at the tree line where they were looking, brows shooting up at the pyramid standing several miles away…with a huge spaceship of similar design perched on top of it.

“We-ll,” he said. “Guess aliens built the pyramids after all.”

Sam shook his head in exasperation.

“Dammit,” Dean growled.

“What?” Sam exclaimed, whipping his head around in alarm.

The older Winchester spread his arms. “We no longer have any weapons.”

Little brother’s expression fell as realization hit. “Shit.”

“Cheer up, kiddos,” Gabriel interjected. “I’m picking up portal vibes.”

Dean immediately perked up. “Good job, Sammy!”

“Excuse me? What’d he do except almost rip us into a million pieces?”

Sam winced apologetically, but Dean tossed Gabriel a disdainful look.

“At least he _tried_ something, which is more than you’ve been doing. Now let’s go before they send search parties after us.” He gestured impatiently for Gabriel to lead the way.

The archangel was tempted to give Michael’s vessel what-for, but his head was still ringing, his back twinged with each minute movement, and he was starting to tire of this game. So with a dramatic eye roll, Gabriel strode off in the direction of the inter-dimensional doorway. Man, when he got out of here, he was gonna have a real sit-down with Kali. Sure, maybe Gabriel deserved a few of those punches, but trying to stick a _snake_ in his head? Not cool. Also, the veiled, metaphorical daddy issues were completely uncalled for.

He led the Winchesters on a trek through the forest until the trees began to thin and a gravel road appeared. Roads meant traffic, which increased their chances of being discovered. And though Gabriel wouldn’t admit it out loud, he was so over this station. So they kept to just inside the tree line, on the lookout for company coming around the bend. There was no sign of anyone though, which should have been Gabriel’s first clue that things would not be so easy.

There was a twenty-foot mound of black dirt ahead, and just beyond it they’d find the portal. “Home stretch, boys,” Gabriel declared.

As the three of them crested the incline, the Winchesters pulled up short, eyes rounding. The mound looked down on a small, smooth crater, with a huge metal ring erected vertically on an iron platform. Seven clamps spaced evenly around the circle glowed orange with different symbols, and the center was filled with a bright, shimmering blue liquid, like water.

“Huh,” Gabriel remarked. “So in this case, the portal is actually a portal. Nice symmetry.”

“ _That’s_ the portal?” Dean asked.

Gabriel smirked. “Don’t be scared, Deano.”

“I ain’t scared,” he bristled. “But how do we know the next place won’t be worse than this one?”

“Worse than body-snatching snakes?” Sam muttered.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Are you trying to jinx us?”

A high-pitched whine of an engine suddenly filled the air, and they whipped their heads back toward the spaceship where three smaller vessels were launching from the sides.

“See?” Gabriel exclaimed, and began barreling down the slope toward the portal. They were still several yards away when the gliders caught up, and Gabriel heard the whoomp of weapons’ fire. The ground ten feet ahead exploded, showering them in bits of black granules. Gabriel pushed himself into a full-out run toward his salvation, attempting to dodge the bombardment of energy balls. Then he heard that infuriating cry that made him want to strangle someone.

“Dean!”

How many times was he going to have to save the Winchesters? Gabriel skidded to a stop, sliding through gravel as he turned to see Sam hauling Dean off the ground. Neither was bloody or burned, though big brother’s face was smeared with dirt and grime. The gliders had zoomed overhead, but were banking to come around for a second run.

Gabriel raised a hand, prepared to snap his fingers and blow up the ships, but his grace twinged under the pressure. _Crap_.

Gritting his teeth, he ran back toward the Winchesters and took Dean’s other arm. Together, he and Sasquatch half-dragged the stumbling ape toward the portal. The gliders straightened out, now coming at them from the front. Yellow fireballs shot through the air. One struck the gate, leaving a starburst blast pattern on the rim. The soil nearby exploded, knocking all three of them to their knees. Gabriel hauled both boys up by their collars, not pausing to check for injuries. Ten steps to safety…hopefully.

Gabriel may not have had access to his mojo, but he still possessed super human strength. Gripping the Winchesters by the backs of their jackets like puppies, he tossed them into the rippling surface of the ring. Then he sprinted the last few steps and flung himself at the portal’s event horizon.


	8. Bottom of the Food Chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more lines of dialogue come directly from 5x8. You’ll recognize them; they’re not mine.

Dean found himself flying through the air, and then suddenly hitting the ground and flipping into a roll. He tumbled through bushes and over rocks before finally coming to a stop, one arm pinned awkwardly under his twisted body. He swore he heard something snap, but wasn’t sure if it was him or some poor sapling.

Groaning, he scrambled to his feet, adrenaline spurring him to check for danger. Pain lanced through his back, but he was fairly certain nothing was broken. Gabriel came plummeting out of thin air a split second later, slamming into Dean and knocking him down again. The impact jarred every bone in his already abused body, whiting out his vision for a moment in blinding pain. When the haze cleared, Dean jerked back at Gabriel’s ugly mug inches from his own face.

“Whew, thanks for breaking my fall there, sport.”

Dean bucked, flinging Gabriel to the side into a patch of ivy. The archangel made a rather undignified ‘oomph.’ Rolling into a sitting position, Dean noted they were once again surrounded by lush, very large vegetation. Why were they always ending up in the woods? At least there were no spaceships flying overhead and shooting at them. He tipped his head back to scan the sky, just to be sure. The trees surrounding them were massive, with thick, intertwined canopies almost one hundred feet up, blocking out most of the sky. Dean paused at the sight of a huge, saucer-shaped tree house perched high above.

“Please tell me we’re not in Tarzan,” he muttered, though he thankfully registered no one was wearing a loincloth. The image of Gabriel in one of those would scar him for life. Rather, they were back in older, 18th century style garb—trousers and button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

A moan issued from nearby, and Dean whipped around to find Sam sprawled on the ground. He limped over and dropped down next to him. “Sam? You hurt?”

“Don’t think so,” his brother grunted, and pried his eyes open. He cocked his head, smushing his hair through the dirt. “Swiss Family Robinson?”

“Huh?” Dean followed Sam’s gaze up to the tree house. “Dunno.” Honestly, that’d be kind of tame compared to where they’d just come from.

Gripping Sam’s arm, Dean pulled him upright. It was then he noticed two rifles and a couple machetes scattered on the ground around them. Dean snatched up both a gun and blade, feeling immensely relieved to be armed again.

Sam grabbed the other Remington and checked the ammo. “Well, place seems normal enough. I’d take anything over another sci-fi trip.”

Gabriel staggered to his feet and brushed dirt off his pants. “Uh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that…”

Dean tensed. “You know where we are?”

“Ah, yeah. This is the place I stuck your angel boy toy.”

Dean immediately got to his feet, turning in a full circle as though Cas would magically come strolling through the trees. “So where are we?”

Gabriel opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a screeching roar trumpeted somewhere in the distance. It rattled Dean’s eardrums and the trees as dozens of squawking birds took flight. For a moment, the three of them stood stunned.

“What the hell was that?” Sam asked.

“Uh…” Gabriel shifted his weight almost guiltily, and scooped up the other machete. “It ain’t Barney.”

The ground trembled and the trees several yards away began to thrash as something very large moved through them. Dean was getting a really bad feeling. Another impact vibration reverberated up through the soles of his boots, and branches parted. His jaw dropped. It was a dinosaur, a friggin’ tyrannosaurus rex.

“You stuck Cas in Jurassic Park?” he said incredulously.

“Eh, not quite,” Gabriel replied, taking a step back.

“Don’t move!” Sam snapped. “He won’t see us if we don’t move.”

“Seriously?” Dean growled. Every muscle in his body twitched with the urge to run or shoot. He curled his hand around the rifle in a white-knuckling grip. Would bullets even be effective against the thing?

The dinosaur turned its head, beady eyes narrowing their direction. Tiny nubs of nostrils on its bulbous snout flared. The T-rex opened its maw and belted out a hair-raising shriek. Dean flicked his gaze to the tree house, cleverly built out of biting range. Too bad he couldn’t see a way to get up there.

“Um, I’m gonna make like a banana…and split.”

“Gabriel!” Sam hissed, but the archangel had already pivoted in a one-eighty retreat. The rex gave another thunderous roar, sending chills down Dean’s spine. Screw this.

He turned and bolted after Gabriel, Sam on his heels. The ground shook with the monstrous stomping that pursued them, and the jungle whipped by in blurred greens as Dean barreled through branches and under vines. He threw a look over his shoulder to make sure Sam was behind him, and kinda wished he hadn’t.

One time when he was seventeen, Dean had bought a ticket for one of those 3D rides at some mall that was featuring Jurassic Park. He’d faced plenty of monsters by that age, and figured something as ridiculous as dinosaurs wouldn’t scare him. He’d never admit it, but when that first raptor had stuck its head through the windshield of the virtual jeep and snapped its jaws at his face, it’d looked so damn real that Dean had ripped the glasses off and finished the ride watching a fuzzy screen.

Now he was being chased by a real freakin’ dinosaur, which was somehow so much worse than any wendigo, vampire, or werewolf he’d ever hunted.

Sam caught up and grabbed Dean’s arm as he darted past, yanking him into a faster run. The T-rex roared again, sounding almost on top of them. Dean’s heart jackhammered in his chest, blood rushing in his ears like rapids. Gabriel was a blur of brown jacket as he wove through the foliage ahead of them. Dean suddenly remembered the old adage saying to survive a grizzly bear, simply run faster than whoever you’re with. The archangel sure seemed hell-bent on following that philosophy. Dean pumped his legs harder, keeping pace with Sam who naturally ran faster with his longer gait.

When Gabriel abruptly banked right, the brothers careened after him, right into a narrow crevice in the side of a crag. Sam squeezed through, narrowly avoiding clobbering his head on the roof, followed by Dean just as a set of razor teeth snapped empty air. They both slammed into the back of the cave’s wall to find it was more of a nook than a passage to safety.

Hot, putrid breath chuffed into the cramped cavity as the rex stuck his snout in the cleft. The three of them pressed themselves against the back of the cave, which only provided a two-foot gap between those four-inch incisors and their tender flesh. Dean could’ve sworn he’d seen this in a movie before. It didn’t end well for someone.

Sam cringed as the rex screeched one final time before stopping the assault. After a series of receding thudding steps, the only sound left was three sets of heavy breathing. None of them seemed ready to move, braced for the beast to return.

When nothing happened for several long moments, Dean felt his heart rate begin returning to normal. “Holy shit,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Sam said, sagging against the cave wall. “ _Why_ would you stash Cas here?” he directed to Gabriel, tone laced with accusation and repugnance.

The archangel shrugged his brows. “Kid was looking for dear old Dad; what better place than the land that time forgot?”

“The Lost World?” Sam’s mouth thinned in disapproval. He still seemed reticent when it came to chewing out the Trickster, despite the fact his powers were obviously on the fritz.

Dean, however, felt no such restraint. “Cas is trying to prevent your brothers from killing each other, is trying to put _your_ family back together, and all you can do is mock and torture him for it?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Castiel needs to get with the program as much as you two do. He’s never gonna find Dad, ‘cause Dad don’t wanna be found. Michael and Lucifer will have their knock-down drag-out, as destiny has proclaimed.”

Dean shook his head fervently, fighting the urge to punch the archangel. “You son-of-a-bitch.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Sam pressed. “There has to be some way to, to pull the plug.”

Gabriel let out a humorless laugh. “You do not know my family. What you guys call the Apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner. That’s why there’s no stopping this, because this isn’t about a war. It’s about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other.” His volume had risen slightly as he amped up, but now Gabriel glanced away, expression hooded. “You’d think you’d be able to relate.”

Sam’s brow creased. “What are you talking about?”

“You sorry sons-of-bitches. Why do you think you two are the vessels?”

Dean and Sam exchanged a questioning look.

“ _Think_ about it. Michael,” Gabriel pointed to Dean as he dropped his voice an octave. “The big brother, loyal to an absent father, and Lucifer…” Gabriel swung his finger toward Sam. “The little brother, rebellious of Daddy’s plan. You were born to this, boys!”

Dean whirled on him, fingers curling into a fist subconsciously. “No. Maybe that’s what you guys had planned, but Sam and I have proven we’re good at ripping up the ending and making our own story. And we ain’t stoppin’ now. So take your destiny crap and shove it up your ass.”

Gabriel blinked as though taken aback, and that tiny fissure in his facade revealed a glimpse of some deeper devastation underneath. As though this whole mess with his brothers actually broke his stone-cold heart.

_Well cry me a river._ Dean and Sam weren’t taking the rap for _his_ family’s problems.

Dean turned away toward the cave opening. “None of it will matter anyway if we don’t get out of here,” he muttered.

Sam appeared at his shoulder and their eyes met, though neither spoke. His little brother didn’t have to say anything though, just standing there as a silent figure of support bolstered Dean. After everything they’d been through, they’d learned to depend on each other, to have faith in each other. If one thing could hold back the tide of Armageddon, it was that.

Dean gave Sam a subtle, resolute nod, then peeked outside the cleft in the cave. “I think it’s gone.”

Sam hefted his rifle at the ready.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Um, shouldn’t we wait?”

“I’m not leaving Cas out there any longer than necessary,” Dean retorted.

“I’m sure he’s having a gay ole time.”

Dean decided ignoring the Trickster would be better for all of them. Gabriel could stay behind for all Dean cared. Surely Cas would be able to help them find the portals and they could finally be rid of their extra baggage.

With a nod, the Winchesters simultaneously stepped out of the cave, rifles raised. The area was quiet and tyrannosaurus free. Dean’s shoulders loosed some of their tension, but he knew they weren’t remotely safe. There would be plenty of other things that could rip them to shreds. Letting his rifle drop slightly, Dean gripped the machete in his other hand. Together, he and Sam moved further out. Bird sounds, maybe toucans, echoed up in the tree tops, which was the best all-clear they were going to get.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Let’s go.” This time he and Sam led the way through the jungle and Gabriel trailed behind, looking put-out. Dean couldn’t care less; they weren’t leaving this channel without Cas. The only problem was how were they supposed to find him in this place? Dean didn’t understand the rules of pocket dimensions, but they’d covered a lot of ground in the western one. And in a cramped forest like this, it could take weeks to scour the entire place. Maybe Cas would be able to sense them now that they were occupying the same space, and he’d simply find them.

Yet, after walking for two hours, Dean’s hope of that happening had gradually dwindled and died. The vines and ferns were thick, and he had to switch the machete to his right hand in order to hack a path through the overgrowth. He almost barked for Gabriel to take the lead with the second blade, but decided he’d rather not be too close to the douche-angel at the moment.

Dean had been keeping an ear out for dinosaurs, or rather, the sudden silencing of jungle sounds that signaled a predator was near. The chirping insects and birdcalls were reassuring in that case. So he was completely taken by surprise when something thin and fibrous snapped around his ankle and yanked. A startled yelp tore from his throat as he was pulled under the waist-high ferns and dragged across the ground.

“Dean!” Sam shouted.

He flailed his arms, machete still in hand, but he couldn’t see what the hell he was aiming at. Leaves and twigs slapped and scratched at his face and hands as his backside was raked over roots and rocks. Whatever had him by the foot suddenly veered upward, flinging Dean into the air upside down with such force that he dropped his weapons. He twisted around, only to find himself staring at a giant Venus fly trap. The plant’s mouth opened wide, razor-sharp barbs glinting like shark teeth around a sanguine hole in the center.

“Sam!” Dean thrashed uselessly as the vine holding his leg shifted to dangle him over the plant. The red orifice smacked its lips in a terrifying sucking sound.

Sam and Gabriel came barreling through the bushes into the small clearing. “Dean!”

“Do something!” he cried desperately. The Venus fly trap’s leaf blades fluttered in anticipation, and one of the guard teeth sliced Dean’s arm as he flapped about. Green juice began oozing from the pores in the fleshy center. Hell no, that better not be digestive enzymes.

Sam leaped forward with his machete, swinging and hacking at the giant carnivorous plant. It flinched and shuddered, and Dean swung a few feet so that he was at least not hovering over the open maw. Another handful of chops, and the vine around his ankle went slack. The ground suddenly rushed up toward Dean’s face, and he barely had enough time to tuck into a roll so he didn’t land on his head or neck. Hard-packed earth greeted his shoulder with a fiery explosion of pain. Dean bit down hard not to cry out.

He tried to get up, but blackness swam around the edges of his vision and he ended up falling back to knock his head against the ground. Through the haze of pain, he saw Sam and Gabriel hacking away at the plant, chunks of juicy green bits flying through the air. Finally, the fly trap gave one last judder and folded in on itself. Sam and Gabriel stood panting and staring for a few moments before Sam whirled and dashed toward Dean.

“Are you okay?” He ran his hands over his brother in search of wounds, pausing at the blood soaked sleeve.

Dean pushed himself into a sitting position. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Sam pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to the gash on his arm. Dean hissed through his teeth at the fresh surge of pain. He shoved it down, however, and made a mental catalog of his body. His shoulder was throbbing, but wasn’t dislocated. With a grunt, he hauled himself to his feet, leaning on Sam when his ankle twinged.

Sam braced his shoulder under Dean’s arm. “Is it broken?”

“No.” He tested putting more weight on it. Sore, yes, maybe even slightly sprained, but he’d had worse. “Thanks.”

Sam just nodded, and waited patiently for Dean to step away. When he did, he peeled back the handkerchief to check the bleeding on his arm. It had slowed, thank goodness. Would probably need stitches once they got out of TV land, but wasn’t bad enough it couldn’t wait.

“Once again, I get no thanks for helping keep you from becoming plant food.”

“Shove it, Gabriel,” Dean said brusquely.

Sam took the handkerchief and folded it before wrapping the cloth around Dean’s forearm and tying the ends together. Dean grimaced when Sam double-knotted it.

“Okay, good enough. Let’s keep moving.” He took a few steps, wincing with each one.

Sam walked over to retrieve the gun Dean had dropped, and froze in the middle of bending over. “Dean.”

And damn if the tone in that single word didn’t set every one of his nerves on edge. Dean hobbled over quickly, noting the pale tone of his brother’s face and wide eyes. He snapped his gaze to where Sam’s was directed, and let out a sharp breath. There was another giant fly trap on the other side of the tangle of ivy, though it also appeared dead. Large strips had been flayed off, and a couple sections were almost cleaved entirely. But there was also blood. Lots of blood. It coated the ground and the plant’s leaves in dried rufous shades.

Dean felt his gut turn to lead; that could’ve been him. Then his eyes landed on a metallic glint lying among the carnage, and his throat constricted until he couldn’t draw breath. Next to the shredded plants lay a discarded angel blade, bits of its hilt and edges splattered with the dark rust of blood.


	9. Can't Get Off This Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally find Cas!

Sam jumped up, forgetting the gun and raising the machete as he moved around to the other side of the ivy-covered tree. His gaze flicked from the angel blade on the ground to the blood-tipped teeth on the Venus fly trap, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

Gabriel stepped up beside him and let out a low whistle.

“Cas!” Sam whipped his head around. “Castiel!”

“Cas!” Dean shouted, voice slightly higher than normal and laced with panic.

The two of them circled the giant plant, and then turned to sweep the undergrowth along the perimeter of the clearing, searching for a splotch of tan amidst the greenery. There was nothing, no sign of Cas.

“Cas!” Dean yelled again.

“Would you two idiots shut up!” Gabriel hissed. “Or are you trying to advertise to everything around that Winchester McNuggets are on parade over here?”

Sam bit back a retort. Dammit, Gabriel was right. Dean’s face was turning red with rage, so Sam quickly threw him a subtle head shake. “The blood is a couple days old, Dean. Cas probably isn’t in the area anymore.”

“How far do you think he could have gotten?” Dean snapped back, gesturing at the rust-colored ground.

Sam grimaced; it was a lot of blood. More than a regular human could have survived. But Cas was an angel. _Yeah, and one of the most powerful archangels standing next to you is all juiced out._

Sam swept his gaze over the area again, trying to spot a blood trail that might show which direction Cas had headed. The plant was dead, so Cas _hadn’t_ been eaten. But then why would he have left his angel blade behind? Sam’s stomach continued twisting into knots until he thought he might retch. He’d seen slaughter and gore before, but this…knowing that all of it probably belonged to one of his only friends…really, his best friend after Dean… The red shades on the ground began blurring into a dark shadow across his vision, forcing Sam to stop and take deep breaths.

_Pull it together._

“Over here,” Dean said roughly.

Sam jerked his head up and strode to where his brother stood, staring at the ground. Several sets of footprints filled the area, along with some drag marks and a few drops of blood.

“We-ll,” Gabriel hummed. “That doesn’t look too good.”

“Maybe some natives found Cas and helped him after…” Sam trailed off, avoiding glancing back at the Venus fly traps.

A muscle in Dean’s jaw ticked, and Sam knew what he was thinking. Either Cas was in bad enough shape that he’d needed the locals’ help, or he was in bad enough shape that they’d managed to capture him. Sam had no illusions this time—the whole point of this pocket dimension was to screw with them, and primeval tribes weren’t exactly known for hospitality.

Mouth thinning in determination, he marched back to retrieve the rifle, wishing they still had those P90s. When he returned to Dean, Sam passed him the gun and offered him the machete back, but his brother shook his head and picked up Cas’s angel blade instead.

“Anything that moves, chop it off.”

Sam’s grip tightened.

“Gabriel,” Dean added, voice dropping to a deadly register. “If Cas isn’t in one piece when we find him, I swear to your deadbeat dad you won’t be either.”

The archangel’s expression darkened. “Watch your mouth.”

Dean met Gabriel’s intimidating gaze with a stony one of his own. _Make me._

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He was pissed at the Trickster too; he just didn’t think threatening him was the wisest decision. Not that Dean ever acted rationally when people he cared about were in danger.

“Let’s get moving,” Sam said before the two could come to blows.

With one last parting glower, Dean turned and strode off to follow the tracks. Sam didn’t wait for Gabriel before heading after his brother. He didn’t need to use the machete to clear a path, as it seemed one had already been worn through the jungle by a large group of people.

Every sound made Sam flinch, from a high-pitched caw to a sharp, gurgling whistle. He had no idea if they were about to duck under an umbrella leaf and come face to face with another dinosaur, man-eating vegetable, or giant insects. Sam had read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s _The Lost World_ , and vaguely remembered the kinds of creatures the characters had come across. That had been the novel though, and this was television, and Sam knew all too well how screen writers liked to take creative liberties. There was really no predicting what they’d run into here.

The sound of running water began filtering through, and a couple minutes later the path wound out of the overgrowth next to a river. Dean walked to the edge of the bank, which turned out to be a vertical drop with the water’s surface four feet down. Sam angled his head over to look; the current was strong. He was thirsty though…

So was Dean, for he knelt down and leaned over just far enough to extend his hand and gather some of the rushing water in his palm. Sam took a step closer, ready to yank Dean back if he lost his balance. He didn’t, and managed to scoop up three handfuls to drink. Once he rocked back, Sam bent down for his turn.

“Watch out for alligators,” Gabriel said snippily.

Sam scowled. The archangel may have been joking, but Dean adjusted his hold on the rifle, angling the barrel at the ready while Sam took a drink. The water tasted ice cold and refreshing, though in the back of his mind he wondered about prehistoric parasites and other unsanitary contaminations. That was the least of their problems, however.

Sam wiped his hand on his pants and stood back up. As he turned away from the river, he thought he saw a shadow flit between tree branches. With the rushing current below, he hadn’t realized how silent the jungle had otherwise fallen. He swung his rifle up.

“Sam?” Dean queried, immediately doing the same.

“Saw something,” he replied quietly, narrowing his eyes on the lush foliage. Nothing seemed to stir, but some of the shadows appeared darker than normal. The longer he stared though, the more he wondered if his mind was simply playing tricks on him. Then a blob he’d thought was the underside of a leaf shifted horizontally.

Before he could signal Dean, a shrill caterwaul went up, followed by a cacophony of other cries, and suddenly the entire jungle was thrashing with movement. A swarm of bronze-skinned, scantily clad figures charged out from the brush. Their faces were painted black with white dashes along their lips and eyebrows, and for a minute Sam thought they were some kind of monsters and not humans. He pulled the trigger, the report from the rifle cracking the air like a thunderclap. One of the savages flipped forward to sprawl on the ground, while the others skidded to a stop, jerking back as though they expected to be hit by lightning.

Dean fired his gun into the crowd, taking down another assailant. The natives recoiled from the sound, but that didn’t stop them from launching spears through the air. One struck the ground at Sam’s feet, and he lurched back. His heel slipped on the edge of the scarp.

Dean’s hand grabbed his shirt front and wrenched him away, the momentum sending Sam to his knees. He quickly righted himself to fire more rounds. Four more attackers fell to bullets, and then Sam’s heart nearly stopped when the rifle clicked with an empty chamber. He frantically patted his pockets for more ammo.

A native let out a vicious battle cry as he charged forward. Sam gripped the rifle and swung it around to bash the guy’s face with the stock. He went down hard and didn’t get up. A quick glance around showed Gabriel a few yards away, brandishing one of the machetes like a samurai sword. Dean had apparently found another cartridge in his pockets, for he was braced with one knee on the ground as he reloaded his gun.

Sam spun at the thudding of hurried footsteps and cracked the side of the rifle across a savage’s head. Dammit, he was gonna break one of their precious few weapons. Dropping the gun, he scooped up the other machete and twisted in an arc, chopping off the head of a spear that was about to impale him. The native behind it barreled into him, taking them both to the ground. Sam squirmed to get out from under him. The guy was pretty lightweight compared to Sam’s height, and easily bucked off. Sam slashed with the machete, cutting across the barbarian’s chest and sending a burst of crimson mist through the air.

Gasping, he craned around toward the tree line where more savages came pouring forth like a sea of ants. There were just too many.

A sharp sting nipped Sam’s arm. He jolted and glanced down to where a small dart protruded from his bicep. Heart rate spiking, he hurriedly plucked it out, but even as he stared at the feathered barb between his fingers, the edges of his vision began to blur. _Oh no…_

“Sam!” Dean’s voice sounded slightly muffled, as did the shrieks echoing around him. Sam turned in time to see a dart strike Dean in the shoulder. His brother’s eyes went wide and he stumbled, foot catching in a rut, and suddenly Dean was falling backwards over the edge of the embankment.

“No!” Sam reeled forward, reaching out as though to catch him, but Dean was too far away. There was a loud splash before Sam’s head became too heavy to hold up and the ground rushed up to meet him.

* * *

Something struck Sam’s back, jolting him from an inky sea of dreamlessness. He startled awake, shaking his head sharply and immediately regretting it as a wave of wooziness swallowed him again. He was so damn uncomfortable, arms stretched taut above his shoulders. And why did it feel like his feet were somewhere above him as well? It took a moment for Sam to realize the swaying wasn’t in his head, but that his body was actually dipping back and forth. Blinking his eyes open, he saw his hands and feet were bound to a thick branch.

What the hell…he was trussed up like a freakin’ hog. The movement was from being carried through the jungle, occasional rocks and roots knocking against his backside as his captors were none too gentle.

Sam craned his neck around, pulse kicking into overdrive. He was surrounded by black-faced men marching stoically through the jungle. Where were Dean and Gabriel? Oh God—Dean, the river! No, Sam had to get back there. He began squirming in an overwrought frenzy, which only earned a crack to his ribs from some kind of bamboo switch. Pain lanced through his side and he sucked in a sharp breath.

The trees overhead thinned, and then Sam was passing under a wooden parapet into some kind of village. He flicked his gaze around the thatched huts, roofs lined with sharpened spears like weaponized tortoise shells. Women and children gathered in doorways, staring wide-eyed at his arrival. He heard a snick, and suddenly the bonds around his wrists and ankles snapped, and he thudded unceremoniously on the ground.

Before he could catch his breath, Sam was hauled upright and dragged by two men into a small hut. The interior was dim, barely lit by two small windows near the ceiling that illuminated a cage made of bamboo. One native unwound some twine around two crossed shoots and opened a door, the inside of which was lined with horizontal spikes. The other guy shoved Sam through. He stumbled and caught himself before face planting in the dirt. After slamming the door shut and knotting the hemp again, the savages pivoted and returned outside.

Sam eyed the cage door. If he tried to reach the rope, he’d get stuck by the many skewers jutting two feet out from the bamboo bars. The cell wall on the side wasn’t layered with stakes, so he went over and gave them an experimental shake. Damn, they were sturdy. He wouldn’t be breaking them, at least not without causing a ruckus that would draw attention from outside. A quick scan of the rest of the hut showed solid logs rammed tightly together; the only exit was the way he’d come in, right into the center of the village and the horde of warriors. All in all, it wasn’t the most sophisticated cage Sam had ever been in, but it was effective. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try breaking out. He needed to get back and find Dean.

Stepping back, he did a visual sweep of the cell’s interior in search of a tool he could use to saw through the bamboo. His gaze caught on a dark shape in the corner he hadn’t noticed before, and he immediately went rigid. Wait…

“ _Cas?_ ” Sam darted over and dropped beside the slumped figure. He could hardly believe it; after all their searching, he’d actually found Cas. But…the angel’s eyes were closed, head propped up by the wall. Sam’s gaze drifted down and his mouth fell open in horror at the numerous, bloodstained tatters through Castiel’s trench coat, shirt, and pants. Sam flashed back to the scene of the Venus fly traps, and he swallowed convulsively.

“Cas?” He reached for the angel’s shoulder and shook him gently.

Castiel flinched, eyes flying open and looking around in a wild daze.

“Whoa, it’s me!”

Cas blinked owlishly several times before his shoulders sagged. “Sam? What are you doing here?”

“Long story.” He hovered his hands over the angel, unsure what to do. “God, are you…?”

Cas glanced down at himself. “I’m fine,” he said gruffly.

Sam snorted. Still, most of the blood was dry, and not fresh, so that was something.

Cas reached up to grab his arm. “Sam, listen to me. The Trickster—”

“Is an angel, I know.” He stuck his fingers between the slits in Cas’s shirt, carefully stretching the tears apart so he could get a look at the wounds underneath. “Dean figured it out and we managed to trap him in holy fire. He confessed to being Gabriel.”

Sam flicked his gaze up to Castiel’s face, but couldn’t read the emotion behind the tightening lines around his eyes and mouth. He quickly returned his attention to the various wounds slashed across the angel’s chest and stomach. Most of them seemed three-quarters of the way healed—the smaller ones were thin pink lines, while some of the longer ones were still scabbed over. None were gaping or actively bleeding. Sam allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I don’t understand how you’re here,” Cas said. “If you trapped Gabriel, why didn’t he let you go?”

“He almost did. But then some pagan goddess named Kali showed up and hijacked his pocket dimension.” Sam shook his head. “I guess she’s more powerful than him or something, because Gabriel hasn’t been able to get us out. We’ve been jumping through backdoor portals trying to find our way to the end.”

Cas furrowed his brow. “Oh, that explains the power surge before.”

“You felt it?”

“Yes. I thought it was Gabriel strengthening the wards over me.”

Sam gave Cas a sympathetic grimace. He knew all too well what it was like to be the Trickster’s plaything. “Come on, you and I need to get out of here and find Dean and Gabriel.” Obviously the archangel hadn’t been captured. Maybe he’d run and abandoned them during the fight, maybe he’d been hurt, Sam didn’t really care. All he cared about was making sure his brother was okay.

Sam stood up and turned to consider the cage door. “Can you fly us around inside the dimension?” Gabriel had been about to in the sci-fi world, before he’d been hit by that staff weapon.

When Castiel didn’t answer, Sam turned back and noticed he hadn’t gotten up from the ground. Now that he thought of it, why hadn’t Cas escaped this place to begin with…?

“Cas?” Sam asked, voice hitching.

The angel didn’t meet his gaze. Fighting a growing sense of dread, Sam knelt next to him again, taking in the shredded remains of his clothes and partially healed wounds. A lump formed in Sam’s throat.

“Cas…the attack at the Venus fly traps looked like it happened at least a day or two ago. Why are these taking so long to heal?”

Castiel still didn’t look at him, consternation knitting his brows together. “Gabriel bound my grace after I escaped the first time, to ensure I couldn’t do so again. I have been forced to conserve it, but…”

“But what?”

Cas dropped his head back against the wall in exasperation. “I have had to fight off many creatures in this realm. It has been…draining. My grace was barely able to sustain me from this last attack. That is why the wounds are healing so slowly.”

Sam subconsciously fisted a hand in Cas’s coat. That son-of-a-bitch.

“Was he trying to kill you?” The question came out in a hiss, as though Sam was having a hard time believing it. Sure, the archangel had made it no secret what he thought of the Winchesters and Castiel, and yeah, he’d killed Dean numerous times, but it hadn’t been _permanent_. And he was working with them to get out of this hell hole. Though, honestly, he was probably only doing it to help himself.

Cas cocked his head in a slight shrug. “Gabriel likely didn’t realize how diminished my grace already was from being cut off. Though it also likely wouldn’t have made a difference to him.” His face flushed with slight embarrassment. “I have not tried to escape this primitive prison because despite the circumstances, it has given me a place to rest.”

Sam let out a strained breath. “Okay, so you’re playing mortal now?”

Cas’s eyes pinched with shame, and he ducked his gaze from Sam again.

“Dude, it’s okay,” he said hurriedly. “So is Gabriel, more or less, and we’ve been managing.” _Barely_.

Dammit, the Trickster deserved all this shit Kali was throwing at him. Maybe Sam could summon her, beg her to let the three of them go and she could have Gabriel to torture until the end of time. But Sam didn’t know how to summon a pagan goddess of violence, nor did she seem the quintessential example of reason considering she’d gone to all this trouble over some lover’s spat.

Sam forced himself to a take a deep breath through his nose. He was starting to feel some of Dean’s trademark rage. Cas winced, and Sam startled when he realized his grip on the trench coat had unintentionally pulled on the angel’s injuries. “Sorry,” he mumbled, letting go of the fabric and smoothing it. There wasn’t much he could do for the wounds at this point, except to sit back and watch them heal the rest of the way.

Sam’s chest constricted. Even if he could break out of this cage, he couldn’t leave Cas here. But what about Dean? Had he made it out of the river? How? If the blowdart had been a sedative, he wouldn’t have been able to swim to shore. And where the hell had Gabriel gotten to?

“I’m sorry I can’t get you out of here, Sam.”

Sam knew Cas meant more than just this cage, and he straightened at the angel’s despondent tone. This was _not_ his fault. “Don’t worry, Cas. Dean will come for us, and then we’ll all find the portal out of here.”

He pushed the image of Dean falling backward into the river from his mind. No, Dean wasn’t dead. Sam would _know_ , and dammit, his older brother was just too damn stubborn to be taken down by a stupid dart and impromptu swim.

“Dean is only one man.”

Sam felt the urge to snap at the angel for always being so pessimistic, but the hollow look in Castiel’s eyes evaporated his anger. The last few days had been hell for all of them, yet Cas had been facing it alone. Powerless, running for his life, all at the capricious whim of his own brother. In a way, that was more cruel.

Sam put his hand on Cas’s shoulder and squeezed. “Dean’s been tearing through these pocket dimensions looking for you. We both have. You know how protective Dean is of his family, so I’m telling you right now, Cas, he’s coming for us.”

He caught Castiel’s gaze and held it for a long moment. At first, Cas looked confused, forehead creasing as he seemed to be parsing out Sam’s promise. And then a flicker of dismayed understanding lit his eyes.

Sam nodded. Alligators, dinosaurs, man-eating plants, and even this primitive tribe would learn you don’t mess with Winchesters.


	10. Brother Where Art Thou?

Gabriel rotated the stick in his hand, making sure to roast the marshmallow on the tip evenly over the flames. The key was to get the edges just a smidgen crispy brown and the center warm and gooey. When the white puff was properly golden, he removed it from the campfire and stuck it on a graham cracker stacked with a chocolate bar. Topping it with another graham square, Gabriel hummed appreciatively as the squishy gelatin oozed out the sides. He took a bite, making mumbled noises around his full mouth. Man, had he missed sugar. Junk food was one of the most innovative accomplishments the hairless apes had made since crawling up from the primordial slime. ****

Gabriel tilted his head at his companion laying on the other side of the fire. “Want one?”

Dean didn’t respond, still unconscious and damp from his dunk in the river. That had been one of Gabriel’s more dramatic rescues…okay, pretty much his only rescue—diving into the frigid rapids, pulling the Winchester up from the bottom, and then fighting the sweeping currents to get them both to shore. And _no one_ had been around to witness his selfless heroics.

Gabriel waggled the half-eaten s’more in the air. “No? I’ll just eat yours then.” With that, he stuffed the rest of the treat in his mouth, letting the warm chocolate melt on his tongue, and snapped his fingers to conjure another marshmallow on the wooden spit.

Night had fallen, and the jungle had become quite active with chirping insects and other nocturnal animals. The fire should keep most creatures away, and if it didn’t, there was one rifle and one machete left. Gabriel wasn’t too worried.

A low grunt came from the lump across from him, and Dean shifted his head, eyes squinting before gradually peeling open.

“Good morning, sunshine. Er, well, evening.”

Dean propped himself up on one elbow, reaching his other hand up to hold his head. “Mhm, what happened?”

“You got Mickeyed and then tossed in the pool. Lucky I was there to play Hasselhoff.”

“What are you on about?” Dean grumbled, giving himself a small shake as though to clear the lingering drug fog.

Gabriel started mentally counting down. _Three, two…_

“Sam!” Dean bolted upright.

_One_. Gabriel suppressed a sigh. “Baby brother got napped by the local yahoos. He’s _fine_ though; they took him alive.”

Winchester scrambled to his feet. “Where?”

“Cool your jets. We can’t mount a rescue mission in the middle of the night.”

“Where. Is. He?” Dean took a menacing step forward.

Gabriel surged up to meet him, dropping his spit and marshmallow in the dirt. His vessel may have been shorter in stature, but he was an _archangel,_ for crying out loud. These hairless apes were supposed to _fear_ _him_. “Two miles south. I can sense him, and he’s alive. But hey, you want to go traipsing through the jungle so Rex can have a crunchy Winchester taco, be my guest.”

Dean’s shoulders heaved with fury, and for a moment, Gabriel wondered if the kid would actually make a move. He had half a mind to let Dean throw a punch against an angel, just to teach him a lesson on how well _that_ would work out. But Dean only clenched his fists and whirled away, storming back around to the opposite side of the fire.

Gabriel glanced at his dirt-coated marshmallow morosely. “By the way, I have even more good news: Castiel is with him.”

Dean spun around again. Kid was going to give himself whiplash. “What? You can sense Cas? Why the hell didn’t you mention that earlier?”

“He wasn’t in range earlier. Now he is.”

Gabriel didn’t mention how Castiel’s grace was so faint, he almost hadn’t recognized it. Yeah, he’d bound the twerp so Castiel couldn’t escape and tip the Winchesters off as to his real identity—not that it’d done any good. In any case, Gabriel should’ve sensed the angel the moment he and the kiddos fell into this channel. When he hadn’t, he’d just assumed either Castiel had escaped (unlikely), Kali had vaporized him (less unlikely but not impossible), or Gabriel’s range was merely decreased (which it was). Oh well, the squirt was alive, and was even with Sammy-boy, so as soon as their two big bros rescued them, Dean could finally abandon his ridiculous crusade and they could resume searching for the portal.

Dean was shaking his head, tension radiating off him in waves. “What’s the plan?”

“We’ll head after them in the morning, then see what we’re up against.” Gabriel sat on the log again and conjured a fresh marshmallow and stick.

Dean stared at him as though he could actually bore holes through the archangel with laser beams. “I thought your batteries were drained?”

“I recharged.” Well, not completely, but Winchester didn’t need to know that. Snapping his clothes dry after that swim in the river, conjuring the campfire _and_ the s’mores had taken more effort than he cared to admit. But he’d _earned_ some respite after what he’d had to endure.

Dean glanced at the rifle and machete. “You couldn’t have whipped up something useful, like more weapons?”

Gabriel tossed him an exasperated glare, then snapped his fingers. Six rifles shimmered into the air above Dean, ready to come crashing down on him, but before they could, the guns flickered and vanished. _What the hell…_

Dean glanced at Gabriel, then around as though he expected to get hit in the head with the pile after all. When nothing happened, he crossed his arms. “Great, you just drained your mojo again, didn’t you?”

Gabriel gritted his teeth and pushed a surge of grace out from the center of his chest. The blazing light fizzled and curled in on itself, sending a slight jolt of pain through his limbs. _Well, shit._

Rolling his eyes, Dean snatched up the machete and then sifted through some of the brush behind him. He pulled out a long stick and gave it a cursory examination before sitting down against a rock. With the branch in one hand and blade in other, he began whittling the wood into a sharpened point.

Gabriel turned his attention back to the marshmallow roasting over the fire. Dammit, he didn’t have a set of crackers and chocolate to go with it. Pulling the poofy gelatin out of the flames, he regarded it dolefully before sticking the entire thing in his mouth. Sugar rush aside, it just wasn’t a s’more without all the fixings.

The snap and crackle of burning wood and the rhythmic snick of Dean’s carving blade created something of a lullaby in harmony with the other nocturnal noises. Gabriel could almost pretend they were camping. Though Dean Winchester wasn’t his first choice for company. Or his last one.

“You’re a damn hypocrite, you know that?”

Gabriel jerked his head up. “Excuse me?”

Dean didn’t bother looking away from his task, the blade steady in one hand as the other rotated the stick. “Your spiel on destiny and how me and Sam are supposed to play our roles because we don’t have a choice. You’re an angel: Gabriel, the Messenger of God. But rather than do the job _you_ were created for, you skipped town.”

Gabriel’s blood started to churn. “I told you, I didn’t want to watch my brothers kill each other.”

“So I’m supposed to kill _my_ brother instead?” Dean’s hands stilled as he finally looked up to glower at Gabriel. “You’re a coward, too scared to follow Daddy’s script, so you run and hide and hope someone else will clean up the mess while you’re gone.”

Gabriel bristled. “What did you call me?”

“You heard me.” Damn, this kid really had no sense of self-preservation. If he wasn’t the prized vessel, Gabriel would smite him right then.

“So you’ve proven your own argument wrong,” the Winchester continued, unabashed.

A muscle in Gabriel’s jaw ticked. Okay, he needed to take a walk before he did something he regretted. Standing quickly, he snapped, “I’m gonna get some more firewood.”

“Whatever.”

Gabriel flexed his fingers in and out of a fist as he strode into the dark jungle. Who did this mud monkey think he was? Lecturing Gabriel on _his_ family. The Winchesters knew _squat_ about what Heaven had been like back when Michael and Lucifer were at each other’s throats. And then when Dad finally banished Lucifer to the cage and disappeared himself…it had been _heartbreaking_. Gabriel’s family had been torn apart. This pathetic, whiny excuse of a human couldn’t even _begin_ to comprehend…

Well, shit. Gabriel knew all about the Winchesters’ history. Their lives were cursed in more ways than one—and was Gabriel actually _empathizing_ with them? Damn, he’d been hanging around them too long, soaking up their noble, bleeding heart feels like radiation waves in Chernobyl. He seriously needed to bust out of this pocket dimension, ASAP.

Gabriel came to a stop and let out a heavy sigh. His chances of survival were better with the Winchesters, and didn’t _that_ just rankle. Unless, of course, he accidentally killed Deano first. With an exaggerated groan, Gabriel turned to head back to their makeshift camp.

Light from the fire cast dancing shadows through the leaves. There was no sound of whittling, so maybe Winchester had fallen asleep and Gabriel wouldn’t have to deal with him for another couple hours. But as he stepped into the small clearing they’d set up camp in, Gabriel froze.

Dean was sitting against the rock, ramrod straight as he stared at some four-foot dinosaur perched within biting distance. The thing had a webbed mane, and was tilting its head like a bird. A cooing chitter warbled in its throat.

Gabriel quickly scanned the ground and snatched up the rifle. “Hey, ugly!”

The dinosaur whipped its head to the side, and its sails began to vibrate as the curious trill turned into a grating buzz. Dean’s eyes were wide and panicked, still sitting way too close for comfort. Gabriel swung the barrel up and fired, hitting Dino right between the eyes. The body jerked backward and plopped on the ground. Dean scrambled to his feet and away from the creature, as though afraid it’d pop back up.

Gabriel flipped the gun up to rest against his shoulder. “That’s twice now you owe me for saving your life.”

Dean blinked in bewilderment before his expression hardened. “No, you still owe me for a shit load of Sam’s Tuesdays.”

Gabriel pursed lips. _Hm, touché._

Scowling, Dean snatched up the stake he’d been carving, and the machete, and moved to sit away from the dead dinosaur. “You forgot the firewood.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes heavenward. He had never prayed for patience so much in his entire life.

* * *

 

Castiel had fallen asleep again. It frustrated him to be so weak, so fragile, so…mortal. Yet, he needed to regain his strength, especially now that Sam was here. The young Winchester wholeheartedly believed that Dean would come rescue him—which Castiel admitted was possible. Dean was certainly stubborn and tenacious. But there was a host of savage warriors in this village. So Castiel needed to be in a position to help. His wounds were no longer serious, just uncomfortable and sore, so he withheld his grace from further healing and focused on building up his energy for when he’d truly need it.

At least it gave him a goal, something to set his mind to so he could ignore all the confusing thoughts and emotions that had been plaguing him since he’d stood up and looked into the eyes of a brother he’d thought had died. All of Heaven had grieved when Gabriel disappeared, shortly after Lucifer had been thrown into the pit and their father had declared the end of times. And then God had retreated into solitude, only seen by a few choice angels…or so those angels had claimed.

No one knew what had happened to the fourth archangel. Perhaps he’d been killed as a last act of violence from one of Lucifer’s followers before they were cast out. Perhaps he was _with_ their father, wherever God had gotten to. The thought that Gabriel had _run away_ never even crossed anyone’s mind. It was unfathomable. Castiel still couldn’t wrap his head around it, couldn’t stomach the profound sense of betrayal.

Clenching his jaw, he wrenched his mind away from that abyss of dark thoughts. It mattered little at this point. Sam had said Gabriel was helping them find the portals out of this place, but Castiel would not—could not—trust him to ensure the Winchesters’ safety. Sam and Dean were only in this situation because of Gabriel to begin with.

As the rising sun poured its rays through the slits near the ceiling, Sam stirred from his slumber. He blinked, looking around in confusion for a moment before appearing to remember where he was. Castiel had become quite acquainted with that feeling lately.

Sam stood and immediately came over to kneel beside Castiel, checking his wounds. Chagrin made him look away, unable to meet the hunter’s gaze. He knew Sam was probably impatient to get out of here, and here Castiel was, unable to heal simple scratches.

“How are you doing?” Sam asked, an unexpected touch of gentle concern in his tone.

Castiel turned his head to regard him, brow furrowing at the absence of annoyance or agitation on the Winchester’s face. “Fine.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “We really need to expand your vocabulary.”

Castiel considered pointing out that he had a sufficient repertoire for conversing in every language known to man and angels, but shuffling outside the hut drew their attention.

Several men armed with spears entered, faces painted with that tar-like substance. They didn’t say a word as they opened the cage door and stormed inside. Sam tensed as though to fight, but refrained from doing so when two men grabbed his arms and yanked him forward. Two other natives gripped Castiel’s elbows and hauled him off the floor, shoving him out behind Sam. They were led to a wagon enclosed with similar bamboo rods and herded inside. The space was confining, and they were forced to tuck their knees in and slouch against the bars.

Sam gripped the shoots and peered out. “What do you want?” he demanded.

The natives exchanged questioning looks, but didn’t respond. With silent nods, they moved off, and the wagon lurched into movement.

“I doubt they speak English,” Castiel pointed out. In fact, from the snippets he had caught during his captivity, the natives seemed to speak pure gibberish.

Sam slumped back. “The aliens in the last place did,” he mumbled.

Castiel quirked a brow. “Aliens?”

“Um, yeah. Though they were masquerading as Egyptian gods.”

“I don’t understand.”

Sam let out a humorless snort. “Honestly, neither do I.” He rubbed his face and watched as they were carted outside the village and into the jungle, a long train of warriors on foot accompanying them. A muscle in his cheek twitched.

“You are worried about Dean,” Castiel said, feeling as though he was supposed to offer some sort of comfort, but unsure how to do so.

Sam’s mouth thinned.

“As you said, once he sets his mind to something…” Castiel trailed off. It felt wrong to lie and say Dean could easily fight his way through all the treacherous obstacles this world presented, yet didn’t humans often offer that kind of precarious hope? Not entirely false, but not entirely certain either. He shifted uncomfortably, and not just from his cramped position and the jostling of the wagon.

“I know he’s coming,” Sam said firmly. “That doesn’t mean I don’t worry about him though.”

Castiel nodded in understanding. He used to have such faith in his family, in their unwavering presence. When he was part of the Host, he was always connected to the chorus of voices singing praises to their father. Now that he was cut off, he had come to know loneliness and isolation. For Sam and Dean to not have that spiritual connection, and yet to have such unshakeable faith in each other…Castiel actually envied them.

He noticed Sam staring at him as though the young Winchester wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Castiel looked away to gaze at the jungle slowly rolling by with its vivd greens in large, waxy leaves, deep shaded ivy, vibrant prickly orange florets, and rich purple blossoms dangling upside down to drip honey nectar on the ground. It was deceptively peaceful.

The path began to ascend, and about half an hour later, it leveled out on a bluff overlooking the valley. Herds of dinosaurs grazed near a river in the distance, and a few miles away, a clump of thick foliage swished as some large creature lumbered underneath.

The wagon pitched to a stop and the back was opened. Neither Castiel nor Sam moved to get out, which resulted in the natives poking their spears through the bars. Shooting them a dirty look, Sam scooted to the edge where multiple hands grasped him roughly and pulled him out. Castiel shifted forward, wincing as someone prodded one of his unhealed wounds with a stick. He stumbled out of the cage.

“Oh, shit,” Sam said under his breath.

Castiel followed his gaze to a wide stone altar erected near the edge of the cliff. The gray granite was stained in several splatters of brown and rust. Sam wrenched an arm free from his captors and punched one of them. It was a feeble attempt at resistance, for there were too many warriors. One stepped forward with his spear and butted the end of it against Sam’s head. The Winchester let out a grunt and dropped to his knees, blood now pooling from a cut above his eye.

Castiel attempted to unfurl his grace, but only a tiny flicker responded, too weak to do anything. He began to physically struggle in order to reach Sam, but even his angelic strength was dampened in this realm, and he was roughly manhandled toward the altar. Four men lifted him up and laid him down on the stone, then bound his wrists and ankles spread-eagled. Castiel tugged against the ropes, infuriatingly frustrated that he could not snap them with one yank, or fling these men away with a wave of his hand. He couldn’t _do_ anything.

“No!” Sam was on his knees, two sets of heavy hands clamped on his shoulders, another pressing into his back so that he was slightly bowed forward on the ground. Blood had streamed down the side of his cheek.

Castiel’s chest tightened, and he tried once again to summon his grace, but the exertion only served to make his muscles spasm in protest. He sagged in despair. Whatever these natives had planned, Sam Winchester would be next. It would be Castiel’s final failure in a long string of his gradual fall from grace.

A man whose face was painted red instead of black stepped forward from the throng. He wore a robe of feathers down his back and held a jeweled dagger. Castiel eyed it warily as the priest took up position over the altar. Such mundane weapons shouldn’t be able to hurt him, but Castiel knew better now. He heard Sam’s protests and struggles in the background, and wished the hunter would stop before the natives hurt him more. On the other hand, getting knocked unconscious might be a blessing if they planned to sacrifice him.

Castiel’s gaze drifted up to the cerulean sky where a flock of birds glided overhead. He traced their flight, feeling an ache in his wings. Normally they would have carried him anywhere, even out of these restraints. But they were heavy and stiff, bogged down by the power coursing through this constraining dimension.

Then Castiel caught movement in a tree a few yards away, and his eyes widened a fraction. Gabriel was perched in the branches, a group of wooden spears in hand. Castiel simply stared at him, unsure what his presence meant. He didn’t dare feel hope or relief, except to wonder if Dean was nearby. They could still save Sam.

A ray of sun glinted off the knife as the priest raised it high. Gabriel met Castiel’s gaze and winked.


	11. Wayward Brothers

Sam couldn’t throw off the three natives holding him down, though he was squirming and trying his damnedest. He watched helplessly as the heathens tied Cas on top of the altar and the priest approached with some kind of ceremonial dagger. And then Sam’s heart plummeted when Castiel stopped struggling altogether, as though resigned to this. That only made Sam fight harder.

“Cas!” Blood from the cut above his brow flung into his eyes, and Sam shook his head sharply to clear his vision, desperate to see what was happening, yet also terrified.

The priest lifted the blade above his head, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. A shot cracked the air, making him flinch even as his eyes flew open again in time to see the priest reel back and hit the ground. For a moment, no one moved, the savages gaping incredulously at their fallen leader. Then another bang thunder-clapped, and one of the men holding Sam’s shoulder pitched forward to face plant in the dirt. A splotch of crimson quickly started spreading from a hole in his back.

The warriors erupted, shrill cries of outrage ringing across the bluff as they raised their spears and began charging back toward the jungle. Sam twisted around and spotted Dean twenty yards away, striding from the tree line with rifle braced against his shoulder. The younger Winchester nearly broke into a grin. Perfect timing—cutting it close as usual.

More gunfire punctuated the shrieks of the attacking natives, but ten were running toward Dean and they would reach him before he could shoot them all down. A spear flew from the opposite direction and struck one of the indians. Those nearest him skidded to a stop and turned as more javelins were launched toward them from some elevated position. Sam could only assume Gabriel was here, but didn’t waste time searching for the archangel.

There was only one guy left holding Sam down, so he jammed his elbow back into the thug’s gut. With an ‘oof,’ the man doubled over, putting his head near Sam’s. The Winchester threw his arms up to grab the brute in a headlock, and then flipped the body over his shoulder. Before the savage could catch his breath, Sam followed through with two swift punches to the face that broke a nose and sprayed blood across the grass. Then he leaped up and sprinted for the altar.

Cas was struggling against the ropes again, craning his neck around in an effort to see what was happening. Sam rushed to his side and yanked on the hemp, but it was cinched tight. Knife, he needed a knife. Wiping blood from his face with the back of his sleeve, he scrambled around to the back of the altar and bent down to grab the ceremonial dagger from the dead priest.

“Sam!” Cas called out in warning.

He whipped his head up as a warrior dove in from the side and tackled him. They rolled back and forth on the ground, grappling for the upper hand. Sam finally managed to land a kick to the gut, knocking the barbarian away, but the guy rolled into a crouched position and snatched up the priest’s knife. The whites of his eyes stood out like glass orbs set in his pitch-painted face.

He lunged, and Sam barely had time to throw his hands up and catch the brute’s arms before he could ram the knife into Sam’s chest. With their arms locked and blade poised between them, they were equally matched for strength. Sam’s cheeks puffed with strain as he tried to force the angle of the knife away from himself, but he only managed a centimeter or two. His shuffling footsteps were getting precariously close to the edge of the cliff, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see the hundred-foot drop to the jungle below. Then the savage was not only trying to drive his knife into Sam’s jugular, but was leveraging his body weight to put Sam on the bluff’s brink.

Cas was struggling frantically now, on the verge of breaking his wrist in an effort to get free, when Gabriel suddenly appeared wielding a machete. With one slash, he cut down the heathen, and Sam stumbled as the force he’d been pushing so desperately against abruptly vanished. He was still holding onto the barbarian as the body crumpled in his arms. Scrabbling away from the ledge, Sam nearly sagged against the altar.

Gabriel turned to Cas and flashed him a grin. “Hey bro.”

Castiel’s face was a mixture of bewilderment, mistrust, and aggravation, which was quite an assortment for the usually stolid angel. Gabriel sliced the ropes holding him down, and Sam helped Cas roll off the stone table. Now, where the hell was Dean?

Sam hadn’t noticed the gunfire had stopped until now, and he whipped his gaze around for his brother. Dean was still ten yards away, having abandoned the rifle and picked up a spear instead. He appeared to be holding his own against the last warrior, parrying blow for blow. But then another one came skulking from the tree line, and lifted a blow dart shaft to his mouth.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. Before he could shout a warning or make a move, Cas had scooped up the priest’s knife and launched it through the air. It sailed end over end and thudded into the barbarian’s chest.

Gabriel let out a low whistle. “Nice shot, kiddo.”

Cas almost seemed to twitch at the compliment.

Another round of hollers had Sam spinning around as four more heathens barreled out from the jungle. Gabriel vaulted over the altar with a battle cry of “ _For Gondor!_ ”, machete clanging against the spears of two guys. The other two came around the sides of the stone table, hemming Sam and Castiel in. Cas threw an arm up to block the javelin of the guy on the left, leaving Sam the warrior on the right. With a wide-eyed leer, the savage drew a serrated dagger from his belt. _Crap_.

Sam backed up, searching the ground for a weapon, but Cas had thrown the priest’s knife to save Dean. The native lunged, and Sam jumped back, narrowly avoiding getting sliced across the chest. He swung a right hook, hitting the ruffian in the jaw, but the guy thrust his shoulder into Sam, propelling him back against the altar. The stone’s rim bit into his lower back with a sharp pang.

The brute landed a punch to the side of Sam’s head, sending waves of vibrating pain through his skull. His legs buckled under a surge of nausea, and a fresh spurt of blood streamed down his face. Sam frantically swiped his sleeve across his eyes to clear them. Through the crimson rivulets, he blearily saw the knife lift up when a flurry of tan leaped between it and Sam. Cas plowed into the savage, knocking him back several steps. Sam heard a grunt, and a moment later the heathen dropped to the ground at his feet. Still trying to wipe his eyes clean, he blinked at the serrated blade, a bright red sheen coating it.

Then someone was hauling him up, and Sam found himself staring into the wide, panicked eyes of his brother.

“Shit. Gabriel!” Dean snapped. “You said the portal was nearby, so where is it?”

“Uh, right behind you.”

Dean twisted around, accidentally jostling Sam. “ _Where?_ ”

Gabriel hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Down there. We have to jump.”

That startled Sam out of his daze. “What?” he spluttered, glancing between Gabriel and the cliff. “You can’t be serious.”

Gabriel leaned sideways to peer at the tree line. Sam chanced a look, and tensed at the sight of multiple black shapes weaving through the jungle toward them. _Shit_. They just couldn’t catch a break.

Gabriel waggled his brows. “All aboard!” With that, he grabbed Sam’s arm and wrenched him from Dean’s hold. Sam stumbled, and felt his brother grasp at his shirt before Gabriel shoved him over the precipice. A scream ripped from his throat, but was drowned out by the whipping wind as trees rushed up to meet him.

Sam thudded into a chair a moment later, completely shell-shocked as his internal organs attempted to return to their normal and upright positions.He was seated at a long, wooden table set with plates of chicken, tomatoes, and basil. Iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, wax candles unlit. The large room, which appeared to be an empty tavern, was dingy and dim; one window had shutters open to let in pale gray light from an overcast day.

Gabriel had plopped onto the bench to Sam’s left, wearing a white shirt with billowy sleeves and a brown vest. The archangel glanced at the prepared food and grinned. “Now this is my kind of welcome.” He plucked a cherry tomato off the plate and popped it in his mouth.

Sam gave himself a small shake, still fighting down a surge of nausea from skydiving without a parachute. And damn if he wasn’t going to kill Gabriel for that.

Dean and Cas suddenly materialized on the bench to Sam’s right, looking equally stupefied. Sam did a double-take at the blue frocks draped over their shoulders. An emblem of a white royal cross was embroidered on the fronts. He glanced down at his own attire and found the same, including a rapier whose hilt was poking him in the hip.

Dean jumped to his feet, knocking the table. “What the hell was that?” he shouted at Gabriel.

The archangel shrugged unapologetically. “What? Best way to get you moving was to throw Sammy in first.”

Sam should have made a retort to that, but he was too focused on sweeping blood-plastered hair off his face.

Scowling, Dean snatched up a napkin and pressed it to the cut above Sam’s eye.

“Ow, jeez, Dean.”

“You’re bleeding all over the place,” his brother grumbled.

“Yeah, head wounds tend to do that. I’m fine though.” It stung a bit, but he was fairly certain he didn’t even have a concussion. Sam shoved Dean’s hand away and took hold of the napkin to apply pressure himself. He angled his head up to catch his brother’s gaze, softening his expression. _Glad you’re okay._

Dean’s shoulders relaxed a bare fraction. _You too._

“Wait a second.” Gabriel said suddenly, glancing down at his attire. “D’Artagnan? What kind of casting is this? I’m clearly meant to be Porthos.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What does it matter?”

Gabriel crossed his arms. “Analogies, remember? For instance…” He donned his movie announcer voice and pointed his two index fingers. “Dean, the noble yet alcoholic Athos, and Castiel, the disillusioned yet ever-faithful Aramis. But you as Porthos? Come on! You’re much more suited to be the whiny kid just trying to fit in with the big boys.”

Sam shot him a dirty look.

“Actually, makes perfect sense to me,” Dean said. “Sam, me, and Cas are the three musketeers. _You’re_ extra baggage.”

“Maybe I should just stop saving your asses.”

“You’re the one putting us in danger in the first place.”

Sam briefly wondered how his brother and Gabriel had managed to work together at all in order to rescue him and Cas. Seemed more likely they would’ve killed each other without Sam there to referee.

Dean ran his hands over his hair, at least attempting to take a calming breath. Then he turned toward Cas, who had yet to speak since landing in this channel. “Cas, you okay?”

Castiel looked up from staring at his lap, brow furrowed as though searching for an answer besides “fine.” He looked quite odd in the musketeer uniform; maybe he was lamenting the loss of the trench coat. Sam would have laughed, but something in Cas’s eyes gave him pause. It was the same look he’d had when Sam found him in the cage: consternation and chagrin. Only now, Sam noticed the beads of sweat breaking out on Castiel’s brow and the way his shoulders were quivering with breaths that were coming a little too quickly.

Sam straightened, something niggling the back of his mind, something that seemed important.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Cas…?”

“I’m…afraid not,” he said shakily.

“What?”

Sam surged out of his chair with enough force to knock it over. Tossing his bloodied napkin on the table, he pushed past Dean to reach Castiel, who had gone back to staring intently down at himself. Dread coiled around Sam’s gut, and he grabbed the frock to pull it out of the way. He sucked in a breath at the crimson stain slowly spreading through the white shirt underneath. It was already five inches across.

Dean’s startled gasp sounded behind him. “What the hell…”

Sam pulled the bottom of the tunic up, revealing a jagged, three-inch stab wound to the abdomen. “Oh no.” His alarmed gaze flew up to Cas’s face, which was scrunched up so tight it looked like he’d pop a vein in his forehead. Sam almost forgot how to breathe as he realized the gravity of the situation.

“Dude, just heal it,” Dean said, trying and failing to keep the fear from his voice.

Sam ripped his blue frock over his head, wadded it up, and pressed it to Cas’s stomach. Cas flinched back, but Sam clamped a hand on his shoulder to hold him still. “He can’t,” Sam said when Castiel didn’t speak.

“What? Why?”

Cas’s eyes flicked to Gabriel and then back to Sam’s hands, face flushing in embarrassment.

“ _Gabriel_ bound his grace,” Sam answered again, shooting a murderous look across the table. “It took everything he had to heal from the fly traps.” He could feel Cas starting to shake, and pressed down harder. Castiel let out a tiny, choked off grunt, which made Sam wince. Angels weren’t supposed to make those sounds.

“Son-of-a-bitch.” Dean took a step away, then back to stay near Sam and Cas, and if it weren’t for the table between them, the older Winchester probably would have attacked the archangel.

Gabriel stood and leaned over the table to get a look, pursing his lips. “Hm, that might have been a small oversight on my part.”

“ _Small?_ ” Dean snarled

They did not have time for this. “Gabriel,” Sam interjected forcefully. “Angels can heal each other, right?”

He crossed his arms. “Oh, _now_ you want my help again? I think you should say please this time.”

Cas looked up to glower at Gabriel. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“You sure about that, squirt?”

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean growled, fidgeting with the urge to hit something, though he was clearly angry at the archangel, not his friend. “Sam?” _How bad is it?_

Sam met his brother’s gaze, expression pinching in distress. _Bad_. His fingers were cramping with the amount of pressure he was using to hold Castiel’s lifeblood in, but the wound wasn’t stanching fast enough. Blood was soaking through the frock already, and with each bit of vibrant color that stained the blue fabric purple, more color leeched from Castiel’s pallor.

Sam shook his head in exasperation. “Dammit Gabriel, just get over here!”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but before he could move, the front doors crashed inward. A dozen men in red frocks bearing a crest of a simple gold cross barged in, rapiers drawn.

“You’ve got to be friggin’ kidding!” Dean shouted angrily to the ceiling. “Just pull the damn plug already!”

Gabriel eyed the newcomers with interest. “What have we here?”

The soldiers in the middle of the host parted like the Red Sea, making room for a man in black to step forward. He had voluminous brown hair that fell in waves to his shoulders and a thin mustache. The gaze of one eye roved over them, for the other was covered with a patch. When he spotted Sam and Dean huddled over a bleeding Cas, a predatory gleam lit his eye.

“You are all under arrest,” he declared in a sedate, gravelly voice. “You are to surrender your weapons and tunics to the Cardinal’s guard. Are you going to come along quietly or do you plan to resist?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Oh don’t be stupid, of course we plan to resist.”

“Gabriel,” Dean snapped. “Not now!”

Sam flicked his gaze between the intruders, Castiel’s glassy eyes, and Gabriel’s mischievous smirk. _No, no, no. God, please no_.

The man in black’s mustache twitched with enthusiasm. “Take them.”

 


	12. Out of Mojo

“Take them.” ****

Six of the Cardinal’s guards surged forward first, rapiers angled up.

“Son-of-a-bitch.” Dean drew his blade. Sam yanked Cas off the bench, keeping one hand pressed to the angel’s bleeding stomach, and dragged him back toward the bar counter.

Gabriel whipped out his cutlass. “En garde!”

Metal screeched as blades crossed. Dean parried the first blow thrown at him and then thrust his rapier point at the guard’s chest, but the guy blocked it. Another blade came swiping toward him, and Dean ducked. Jumping back up, he slashed haphazardly. He knew how to fight with a knife, even longer blades, but these guys had poise and form that made him look like a bumbling buffoon.

Well, go with what you know. The next time his blade locked with a guard’s, Dean used his free hand to clock the guy in the jaw. He fell back, only for two more opponents to charge forward.

Then Sam was at his side, brandishing his rapier. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they held off the Cardinal’s thugs. Dean ran his sword through one and shoved the body away with his boot. Sam sliced one guy’s chest, spun, and rammed the hilt of his cutlass against another’s head. The laceration on his forehead had stopped bleeding, but a fourth of his hair was matted with dark red.

Gabriel suddenly leaped onto the table and severed a rope stretched taut above him. It snapped with a twang, and one of the iron chandeliers came crashing down two feet behind Dean. He jerked away, gaping in bewilderment before shooting the archangel a ‘what the hell?’ look.

Gabriel quirked a brow. “Huh, that’s always worked before.” Two guards stormed over and grabbed his legs, wrenching him down. “Whoa!” he cried before tumbling into a mass of red bodies. Three guys barreled around the other side of the room, right toward Cas.

“Sam!” Dean shouted as he leaped over the broken chandelier.

Cas was holding the bloodied frock to his side with one hand, the other leaning heavily on the counter, but as the guards closed in on him, he dropped the compress and drew his own rapier. He barely got it up in time to block, and the force of the guard’s attack pushed Cas harder against the counter. His foot slipped and he almost slid down to the floor, hand white-knuckling around the rim to hold himself up.

Dean charged across the room and tackled the guard, propelling him into the other two. Jumping to his feet before the stooges could recover, he managed to run that guy through and sucker-punch the second. As he swiped at the third, however, the hulking guard parried the blow, and then torqued his rapier in a tight circle. Dean’s sword went flying out of his hand to skitter across the floor. _Crap._

He stumbled back a step, preparing to duck, when Cas staggered around the back of the counter and drove his rapier into the guard’s back. The dude let out a strangled gasp before pitching forward. With the sword embedded in his kidney and Cas gripping the hilt like a lifeline, the descent took Castiel down with him. Dean reached for the angel, but couldn’t prevent him from sliding to the floor.

A battle cry sounded from the right, and Dean snatched Cas’s sword out of the guard’s body in time to meet a new charge. Colliding steel shrieked as the rapiers scraped against each other. There were still four guards, one battling Dean, with another right behind him. Two others were driving Sam back toward their position. Both brothers were beginning to slag, and Dean’s terror amplified with each strike that vibrated down his arm.

Gabriel was gaily sparring with Eye-patch dude amidst a pile of bodies near the front door. “Rochefort, isn’t your name some kind of cheese?” the archangel clipped.

“Gabriel!” Sam shouted desperately.

Gabriel paused long enough to shoot them an exasperated look, but then his gaze dropped to the floor and something in his expression changed. Dean couldn’t afford to look behind and check on Cas, not with two thugs trying to make mincemeat out of him.

“Alright, that’s a wrap!” Gabriel declared, and suddenly his moves changed from fancy swashbuckling to full-on, pissed-off archangel. His rapier sang as it cut the air with shrill whistles. Rochefort couldn’t keep up, and was eventually driven toward the door where Gabriel cut him down.

Dean and Sam managed to fell two more guards, leaving the last two, who didn’t get any blows in before Gabriel marched up behind them, grabbed the back of their tunics, and flung them into the wall. They bashed into the wood panels head first, crumpling like rag dolls. The sudden lull of silence was almost deafening, and for a moment, Dean and Sam stood with chests heaving and looking around as though expecting more guards to come barreling in.

Dean whirled and shoved the dead guards away from Cas before dropping down next to the angel. He was ghostly pale, shallow breaths wheezing from his mouth, and a small pool of blood had gathered on the floor underneath him. Minute tremors were running through his body. Sam jumped over him and knelt down, gently rolling Cas onto his back. Tearing his frock over his head, Dean pressed it to the wound.

“Heal him!” he snapped at Gabriel.

Gabriel, to his credit, didn’t hesitate or make a quip, but dropped down to one knee next to Castiel. He placed two fingers to his brother’s forehead, and Dean waited for the blood to disappear and Cas to startle awake. Neither happened. In fact, after a long minute, _nothing_ had happened.

“Gabriel,” he said threateningly.

The archangel coughed. “Well, that’s embarrassing.” He pressed his fingers harder into Castiel’s forehead. After another devastating moment, Gabriel rocked back, looking slightly shaken.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“I, um, seem to be out of mojo.”

“ _What?_ ” Dean wanted to grab the angel by the lapels of his vest and shake him, but his hands were too busy fisting in the makeshift compress. Cas let out a small moan.

Gabriel stood and backed up a step, scuffing his foot against the stained floor. “Kali’s got this dimension locked down tight. I’m not able to recharge as quickly as normal.”

“So even though you knew you were running on fumes, you still wasted your juice on s’mores and screwing around last night?”

Gabriel actually looked abashed at that. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Dean gritted his teeth and looked at his brother. Sam had two fingers pressed to Castiel’s neck, and his mouth nearly disappeared in a thin line.

“See if there’s alcohol,” Dean said, voice gravelly.

Sam jumped up and darted around the counter. The sound of bottles clinking followed a moment later. Dean shot Gabriel another baleful glare, and though he couldn’t stand the sight of the archangel right now, he didn’t have the stomach to look back down at Cas’s wan face. Cas, who was bleeding out while their super-powered ‘ally’ was standing around like a useless sod.

Sam returned with a dark bottle. “I don’t read French, but I think it’s the strong stuff.”

Dean removed the frock and peeled back Cas’s shirt. The blood-soaked fabric stuck to his skin, and Dean had to pick parts of it away from the jagged tears in Cas’s stomach. The puncture wound had stopped bleeding, though maybe that was because Cas didn’t have a drop left in his body.

Sam tipped the bottle and poured out its contents. The brown liquid splashed over Cas’s torso, rinsing down the crimson and turning it an ocher hue. Castiel arched off the floor with a startled gasp.

“Easy, take it easy,” Dean urged, grabbing one of Cas’s legs to hold him down. “We gotta clean the wound.”

Sam set the liquor bottle aside and placed both hands on Castiel’s shoulders. The angel sagged, eyes moving rapidly under his closed lids.

“Cas?” Sam called.

Dean scooted forward a few inches. “Hang in there, man. You’re gonna be okay, just stay with us.”

Sam glanced back at the wound nervously. “Should we try stitching it? It’s pretty deep. What if the blade nicked something vital?”

Dean’s stomach tightened. They weren’t surgeons, weren’t in some doctor show where Sam could play his role and perform surgery on Cas to repair internal injuries. Heck, Dean didn’t know if they’d even find needle and thread around here.

He pressed the frock to the wound again, and cast his gaze around the tavern and slain guards. “I don’t know. But I don’t think we should stay here; someone’s gonna come by and discover the bodies.”

“Dean,” Sam said, tone low. “We can’t move him. If he starts bleeding again…”

Dean looked away. _Dammit_. “So we find something to stitch him up with.”

Gabriel cleared his throat, and Dean felt his chest turn to ice. So help him, if the smarmy dick made _one_ joke…

“I’ll scout the area, make sure we have some time, maybe lay some false trails. Keep an eye out for the portal.”

Dean blinked at him, and then a muscle in his jaw ticked. “If you do find it, how do we know you won’t just leave us here?”

Gabriel sighed. “Look, I may enjoy toying with you two chuckleheads, but I’ve never wanted to kill you—”

Dean snorted.

“— _Permanently_. Just…” His gaze dropped to Cas, and something akin to worry flickered in his eye, but quickly vanished. “Try not to get into any fights while I’m gone.”

Dean shook his head as Gabriel’s footsteps echoed across the floor and out the door, which he shut behind him.

Sam got to his feet again. “I’ll check the rooms upstairs for stuff we can use.”

Dean merely nodded. He suddenly found himself alone, surrounded by dead bodies, with his best friend laying in a pool of blood. Cas’s pallor had turned sickly gray, and he shuddered with each strained breath. With one hand still holding the compress, Dean reached out his other to cup the side of Cas’s neck.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Cas. We just got you back, so you are not allowed to check out now. You hear me, you son-of-a-bitch?”

Cas didn’t answer. Only the facial tremors of pained grimaces convinced Dean he was still fighting. Several minutes later, Sam’s footsteps clomped down the stairs and he appeared with a sewing basket and bed sheets in his arms. Dean immediately took the wicker basket and began digging around for needle and thread while Sam used a rapier to cut the sheets into strips. After he’d laid out bandages, Sam took another patch and soaked it with the rest of the liquor from the bottle, and set about wiping the blood from around Cas’s wound.

Dean finished threading the needle and turned to start the task of stitching, when he noticed the dozen or so scars and pink lines covering the rest of Castiel’s torso. Something cold and ugly unfurled in his stomach.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Sam glanced up, brow furrowed, then down again at the old wounds. He didn’t say anything though, just cleaned the rest of the area and sat back as Dean set to sewing up flesh and tissue. The movements were second nature. Dean nipped and tucked, and Sam wiped trickles of fresh blood away. The brothers moved in tandem until it was done, and then they carefully wrapped several layers of bandages around Cas’s stomach. Dean had to leverage the angel up so they could do it, and by the time it was done, Dean had ended up sitting propped against the counter with Cas’s head in his lap.

Sam stood up, popping his back, and then bent over to grab one of the dead guards by the arms.

“I can do that, Sam. You need to take care of that head wound.”

His brother shot him a sharp look that froze Dean before he could shift Cas off of him. “I will. You stay there and…watch him.”

The catch in his voice made Dean’s throat constrict, and he automatically glanced down at Castiel’s face. His lips were parted and tinged gray like the rest of his complexion, save for bruise-dark circles under his eyes. Sweat had plastered his hair to his head. He was no longer twitching, and his pained moans had become less frequent. Dean swallowed hard.

Sam dragged all of the bodies to the other side of the room and piled them in a dark corner where they wouldn’t be easily seen. No one came by the tavern though, which as far as Dean was concerned, was a blessing from on high. Maybe Gabriel really would draw trouble away from them for once. Dean found himself torn between hoping Dick Angel of the Year would be successful, and wishing he’d get captured and tortured like he’d let happen to Cas.

Sam gathered up the sewing basket, leftover strips of sheets, and another bottle of whiskey before heading upstairs where he said a mirror was. The cut on his temple looked nasty, but wasn’t too bad. Probably only needed a few stitches since they didn’t have any butterfly bandages in this realm.

It started raining outside, a few plinks on the windowsill that quickly turned to a downpour. Dean settled one hand flat against Castiel’s chest. When the angel’s breaths were too shallow to hear over the heavy rain, Dean relied on the very faint rise and fall beneath his palm to confirm Cas was still alive.

The door creaked open, and Dean immediately tensed, his other hand reaching for a rapier laying by his side, but it was only Gabriel. The archangel shut the door behind him, then gave himself a rough shake. Water droplets flew from his hair to splatter the wall. He pulled up short, arching a brow at Dean propped against the counter with Cas’s head resting on his legs.

“Hm, I feel like I need to be defending my brother’s honor here.”

“Oh, now he’s your brother?” Dean spat. “But then, seems like all angels know how to do is try to kill each other.”

“Hey! I never tried to kill Castiel.”

“So beating the crap out of him is okay as long as it’s not permanently disabling?”

Gabriel crossed his arms. “You and Sammy-boy have beaten each other up plenty of times.”

“It was always over something,” Dean retorted, pausing to glance at the stairs and listen for footsteps coming down them. Sam must still be stitching. “Hell, even Michael and Lucifer’s beef is over the fate of the world.” Dean looked back at Gabriel, eyes narrowing. “You, you just like to screw with people. From where I’m sittin’, that makes you worse.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Gabriel said dangerously.

It didn’t stop Dean. No, he was pissed, and since he couldn’t get up to drive Cas’s angel blade through the Trickster’s heart, he’d have to settle for tearing him a new one.

“You said you love your brothers, but you turned your back on them. On all of them. Family doesn’t do that, no matter what shit goes down. Sam popped Satan’s box, but I didn’t disown him.” Dean dropped his gaze to Cas’s ashen face. “Hell, Cas didn’t even do anything wrong except stand up for what he believed was right, and you lot cast him out.”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Gabriel said, sounding almost petulant. “In fact, I may be the one angel left who doesn’t hate Castiel.”

“So this is what you do to angels you _don’t_ hate?” Dean yanked Cas’s shirt up, revealing the bandages around his abdomen, but also the myriad of other wounds that hadn’t fully healed from the fly trap.

Gabriel’s cheek twitched. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

“I’m sure that means a lot to Cas right now.”

“Look,” Gabriel said sharply, striding over. “I’ll fix it as soon as I’m able.”

Dean shook his head; it might not be soon enough, and that’s what terrified him. He couldn’t save Cas. After everything the angel had done for him, after _dying_ once already, Dean couldn’t stop it from happening again.

“Then go find an outlet to plug yourself into, or meditate, or whatever the hell it is you do to recharge.”

Gabriel drew his shoulders back as though to lob a snitty response, but Dean looked away. He was done. Gabriel could get his shit together or not, but Dean was done trying to appeal to the archangel’s sense of decency; he had none.

Dean fixated his gaze on his friend. If it wasn’t for his hand resting on Castiel’s chest and feeling the faint shudder of ragged breathing, he would’ve thought he was holding a corpse. And if neither angel got their mojo back soon, Dean might very well end up with one.

 


	13. Family Don't End with Blood

Gabriel chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling the urge to strike Michael’s vessel with lightning for his incessant impertinence. Not that Gabriel had the juice for that at the moment, even with the rain storm outside providing the right conditions to simply tweak a few molecules’ temperatures. Instead, the archangel pivoted, intending to put some distance between him and the insolent hunter. ****

His boots squeaked across the floor, and his wet clothes clung to his limbs annoyingly. He almost snapped his fingers automatically to dry them, but caught himself at the last second. No, he needed to save his energies and replenish his grace in order to heal Castiel.

Gabriel flicked his gaze to where his brother lay, doing an Emmy-winning performance of a corpse. A tiny, uncomfortable feeling began niggling Gabriel in the gut. Guilt. He _hadn’t_ _meant_ to hurt Castiel like this. He’d just needed to stick the meddlesome twerp somewhere out of the way while he finished teaching the Winchesters a lesson. Castiel should’ve learned his lesson as well. Who did the little angel think he was, going against what had been God’s plan from the _beginning_? Still, that didn’t mean Gabriel wanted him dead.

Sighing to himself, he strode toward a stone hearth on the outer wall across from his brother and Winchester. A stack of wood sat in a crate next to it, and Gabriel began piling logs in the fireplace. Then he looked around for a way to light it. For crying out loud, it’d be so much easier to just snap his fingers…but he couldn’t. There was that stab of guilt again, and one glance at Castiel’s prone, barely breathing form had Gabriel gritting his teeth as he grabbed a flint off the mantle.

He struck the chert across the carbon once, twice, three times to no effect. Gabriel glared at the flint with the wrath of an archangel. Smiting it would start a fire. He tried again, pressing harder. That got some sparks, but none of them caught on the wood. Gabriel rocked back. This was pathetic.

“You need kindling.”

Gabriel flinched, much to his chagrin. He hadn’t even heard gigantor Winchester come down the stairs. The kid had put a few stitches in his head and washed the blood from his hair.

Sam sifted through the wood box, then walked over to the door and ripped off a royal edict that’d been tacked there. After crumpling it up, he placed it under the wood and stood back to let Gabriel try again. And oooh, did that sting: a measly human standing over an archangel like a patient teacher.

He stood up abruptly and shoved the flint into Sam’s hands. “Have at it.” Gabriel would have marched away as though he’d simply been playing around out of boredom, but the truth was he had gooseflesh running up and down under his wet layers, and it was damn uncomfortable.

Sam just rolled his eyes as he knelt down to strike the flint. Gabriel took petty pleasure when the Winchester struggled just as much with the medieval tool.

“Find anything out there?” Sam asked.

“No-pe,” he replied, smacking his lips. “Seems most of the village took the train to Paris for the king’s birthday party. Found one farmer and casually mentioned I saw musketeers riding north. If anyone else comes looking for them—us—they won’t come here.” Unless the characters weren’t following the script, which Gabriel wouldn’t put past Kali.

The chert finally produced a spark that caught the parchment, and a tiny flame flickered to life. Sam watched with baited breath for the fire to grow and spread to the logs.

“What about the portal?”

“Zilch.” Though Gabriel didn’t point out that with his drained powers, his range for sensing it was once again diminished. He’d still be able to detect it if they got close, but at the moment, he couldn’t give them a direction to go in. Not that they could move Castiel in his condition. Which was _not_ Gabriel’s fault, dammit. Not entirely…

Sam looked disappointed. “Okay. Thanks for checking.” He stood up and walked over to his brother, sitting on the floor next to him and pressing two fingers to Castiel’s throat. He held them there for a long moment, pained worry knitting his brows together.

“He can’t die, Sam,” Dean said quietly.

Sam shifted, crossing his legs and leaning forward, voice equally hushed. Gabriel wouldn’t have heard them if he wasn’t an angel with the supernatural ability to eavesdrop.

“Cas is tough. As stubborn as you.” Sam offered a small smile.

Gabriel crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the hearth. Why were these two monkey heads so devoted to Castiel? Castiel, who was currently the black sheep of Heaven, even more so than Gabriel was. Yet, for all the ways he and Castiel were different—carefree where the other was rigid, witty versus perpetually perplexed—Gabriel and “Cas” had one trait in common that none of the other angels possessed. Chutzpah. Sure, Castiel had turned his back on Heaven for a pair of dumb asses while Gabriel had been living the high life, but there it was. In a way, Gabriel even _liked_ the kid for his spunk.

“He beat death once before,” Sam continued softly.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured. “A Winchester through and through.”

Gabriel straightened. _Huh?_

Sam picked his fingernail at a chink in the floor. “We should ask him to stick around more when we get out of this.”

Dean nodded.

“I mean, suppose he runs into angels? Or his powers continue to fail?” Sam sighed. “I don’t like the idea of him getting stranded somewhere alone.”

“Me neither.”

Gabriel listened in fascination and bafflement. He’d always known family was the Winchesters’ weakness. Their tragic flaw that they were willing to do anything to save the other. But how in the world had Castiel ended up in that fold? There was no mistaking that sharp, possessive expression on Dean’s face when he’d insisted they weren’t leaving without “Cas.” And then how Dean kept sticking up for the little angel, _defending_ him. And now Sammy wanted to keep him close? Gabriel almost snorted audibly. Humans being overprotective of an angel. No, they probably meant they wanted to take care of their only super-powered ally.

“Gabriel will get his mojo back, Dean,” Sam said, jolting the archangel out of his thoughts. “And he’ll heal Cas.”

“We’ll see.”

“He’s been helping us.”

“Only to save his own ass.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, Gabriel thought sullenly. He’d put his life on the line plenty of times in their little TV land adventure. Would it kill these boys to show some gratitude?

“Cas is still his brother, Dean,” Sam pressed in a hushed voice.

“No,” Dean half-growled. The vehemence in his tone startled Gabriel, and he almost forgot not to visibly show he’d heard. “He gave up that title when he turned his back on his family.”

“What if he wants to make up for it?”

Oh sure, play good cop, bad cop on the ‘let’s guilt trip Gabriel’ show. He rolled his eyes. Why was he even listening? Or caring what these hairless apes said?

“Yeah, well, he can take his self-righteous intentions and shove them up his ass. Cas is one of us now. _We_ take care of him.”

Gabriel flicked his gaze over then, an indignant urge to chew the twit out springing to his lips. But it died just as suddenly at the torn, vulnerable display of emotion on both Winchesters’ faces. Dean still had one hand resting on Castiel’s chest, the other pressed to the pulse point in the angel’s throat. Sam sat next to them, his hand having made its way into Castiel’s and squeezing tightly, as though both of them were trying to anchor the fallen angel. It was absurd.

Even more absurd was Gabriel’s increasing sense of remorse and…failure. He rolled his shoulder, trying to slough off the feeling. He was _nothing_ like Michael or Lucifer. And he would prove it. As soon as his damned battery recharged. Done eavesdropping on the Winchesters, Gabriel sat down in front of the fire and closed his eyes to focus his energies. He hoped little bro’s stubbornness kept him hanging in there. Because there was no way he was gonna let those two doofuses do a better job than him of taking care of _his_ brother.

* * *

It took longer than Gabriel cared to admit for his grace to regain a measure of strength, but as soon as it did, he was on his feet and crossing the room. Dean and Sam whipped their heads up in alarm, having not moved from their positions since Gabriel had entered his meditative trance two hours ago. Rain was still pattering outside, though lighter now.

He knelt down and reached two fingers to Castiel’s forehead. _Shit, he was cold._ They should have moved him closer to the fire, which Gabriel now felt bad for hogging. Ugh, this bleeding-heart was getting annoying.

The grace that pulsed through Gabriel was nowhere near what he wanted, and it was less than five seconds before he was completely drained again. He swayed, planting his hands on the floor to hold himself up. Castiel didn’t look that much better. Still pale, though not corpse-like. The dark circles under his eyes still stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his pallor. His chest rose a smidgen higher under Dean’s hand, but it sent a tremor through his body from the effort.

Dean stared at Castiel for a long moment before snapping his gaze up. “That’s it?”

Gabriel almost barked at him to shut up, because damn, he now had an annoying jackhammer in his head.

Sam leaned forward and tugged Castiel’s shirt up to look at the bandages. There was still a red splotch showing through the cream-colored strips, though Gabriel was fairly certain it was smaller than a while ago. Sam picked at the edge of the bandages, trying to peek underneath, and the disappointment that filled his face made Gabriel once again feel like a failure. It hadn’t been enough.

“Do the rest,” Dean demanded.

“That’s all I had,” Gabriel snapped, hating the woozy feeling circling around his head.

“Dean, give him a break,” Sam said in a gentle voice as he checked Castiel’s pulse. After a long moment, he pursed his lips. “Pulse is still weak, but not thready like it was. He’s not as cold. Gabriel bought him some time at least.”

The small measure of gratitude he flashed the archangel would’ve normally elicited a glib response. Not this time though, because Gabriel’s best hadn’t been nearly good enough and his brother was still suffering. This wasn’t a game anymore. With Castiel’s grace bound and stuck in this dimension under Kali’s ruthless power, he could very well die. And as much as Gabriel had tried to cast off responsibility, he knew it would be his fault.

“Is there any way to jumpstart your batteries?” Dean asked.

Gabriel rubbed his face wearily, then paused as a thought struck him. “That depends,” he said slowly.

“On?”

“On what you’re willing to do to save Cassie-boy.” It was a crazy, hare-brained idea the Winchesters would never go for. Gabriel didn’t know why he was even bringing it up. Maybe to prove a point.

Sam straightened eagerly. “What is it?”

Gabriel smirked. Those boys were determined, he’d give them that. But even they had their limits—barring when it came to saving each other, of course.

“Your soul.” He watched with satisfaction as their eyes widened and their shoulders tensed, immediately wary.

Dean gaped at him. “You want us to sell you one of our souls?”

Gabriel almost let him think that, just to confirm that they wouldn’t even consider it, but it wasn’t like the truth would be any more appealing.

“Thanks, but no. What would I do with a Winchester soul anyway? Would clash with the decor in my pad.”

“ _Gabriel_.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’d have to touch it.”

Dean looked mortified. “Come again?”

Gabriel quirked a brow. “Get your mind out of the gutter. No, I stick my hand inside your chest and squish my fingers through the warm gooeyness of a Winchester cream puff.” He made the motion with his hand for good measure.

The brothers exchanged horrified looks.

Sam cleared his throat. “Will…will there be any permanent damage?”

“No,” Gabriel allowed. “But if I’m not _ver-ry_ careful, we go nuclear.” He thrust his hands apart in imitation of an explosion. He watched big brother Winchester swallow hard. Sam opened his mouth as though to volunteer, but Dean shot him a quelling look. Yeah, that’s what Gabriel thought. Dean wasn’t going to risk himself or his little brother for an angel.

“Okay, use me.”

It was Gabriel’s turn to blink. “What?”

Dean drew his shoulders back. “Stick your hand in my chest and power up so you can heal Cas.”

“Did you not hear the part where you could explode?”

“Then you’d better be damn careful!” he retorted.

Gabriel shook his head in disbelief. “It’s still the most excruciating thing to experience. If you thought Hell was bad—”

“What, so all of a sudden you’re concerned about me?” Dean interrupted. “I don’t buy it. If you’re too scared, why’d you bring it up?”

Gabriel bristled. “I’m not scared, you twit. I’m just surprised you’d subject yourself to torture for one fallen angel. I mean, with his waning powers, he’s not gonna be that useful for much longer anyway.”

Dean’s eyes flared with fiery fury. “That’s not what Cas is to us,” he ground out around a voice tight with brimming emotion. “He’s family, you son-of-a-bitch, so just do it!”

There had probably only been three instances in all his millennia that Gabriel the archangel was rendered speechless, and that it had been one measly human to do it this time seemed equally earth shattering. _Family_. The Winchester had actually used that sacred word, destroying the last of Gabriel’s doubt that the brothers could truly care for Castiel that way. Why had he been so hellbent on disproving it in the first place? Because somewhere deep down, Gabriel was now forced to acknowledge that the Winchester brothers weren’t just self-absorbed sons-of-bitches more concerned about each other than playing by Heaven’s rules. No, they _cared_. Maybe more than they should, but there it was.

Gabriel shifted forward and pulled his belt off to place between Dean’s teeth. Though the hunter’s pupils were wide, he clenched his jaw in determination. Sam gripped his brother’s shoulder tight, their gazes meeting in mutual resolve. Well color him pink; Castiel— _Cas_ —was important enough to Dean for him to submit to this, and important enough to Sam for him to let his older brother do it.

“Picture yourself in a Busty Beauties magazine,” Gabriel said gruffly. “You’ll need it.” And with that, he plunged his hand into Dean Winchester’s sternum.

 


	14. We Band of Brothers

Sam watched in horrified fascination as Gabriel’s hand just _sank_ through Dean’s shirt up to his forearm, as though Dean were nothing more than a liquid mirage. Dean’s face screwed up in pain, and he slammed his head back against the counter wall, a garbled cry forcing its way past the belt in his mouth. Sam’s fingers dug into his brother’s shoulder. _Please work, please work._ ****

Gabriel let out a pained grunt, and then his eyes flew open, bursting out golden light like lasers. Sam threw an arm up to shield his face. When he felt Dean’s shoulders sag beneath him, Sam quickly dropped his arm. The flare had died down, and Gabriel had removed his hand from Dean’s chest. Sam snatched the belt from his brother’s mouth and cupped his face.

“Dean? You okay?”

Dean was panting hard, eyes squeezed shut. “God,” he moaned, slumping forward.

Sam’s pulse spiked, and he shot Gabriel a frantic look. The archangel had leaned back, palms on the floor to hold himself up as golden luminescence swam through the veins around his eyes before seeping fully into his skin. He gave himself a slight shake.

“That was about as fun as getting your teeth drilled.”

Dean made a small grunt of agreement.

“It worked though, right?” Sam said urgently.

“Hold your horses.” Gabriel cracked his neck, then reached out and lifted Cas’s shirt, exposing the bloodied bandages. Mouth thinning in concentration, he held his hand over the wound. More amber light began to pulse from his palm. It steadily spread until it haloed Castiel’s entire mid-section, and suddenly Cas’s chest rose with a huge gasp and his eyes flew open.

Sam grasped his forearm. “Cas?”

Cas flitted his gaze around wildly, then relaxed as he seemed to recognize the faces peering down at him. Glancing down at his prone position, his brow furrowed. “What happened?”

“You were stabbed, remember? Gabriel finally got enough power back to heal you.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” the archangel interjected. “I take chocolates, flowers, season tickets to the Broncos.”

Cas still looked a bit dazed, and Sam finally noticed that the partially healed cuts on his chest hadn’t disappeared. Stomach clenching, Sam hastily undid the bandages, but let out a sigh of relief when he found the knife wound gone.

Dean was still looking a little green around the edges and had his eyes closed, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Dean?” Cas asked in concern, and finally tried sitting up. He listed sideways, and Sam shot his hands out to grab him before he rolled onto his stomach.

“Whoa, easy.” As Sam helped pull Cas upright, the angel’s pallor dropped a few shades, and Sam quickly shifted him to lean against the bar counter next to Dean. Sam threw Gabriel a ‘what the hell?’ look. Wasn’t the healing supposed to be absolute?

Gabriel rolled his eyes as though reading Sam’s mind. “What do you want?” he groused. With a grimace, he rubbed his temple. “The power of souls doesn’t get as much mileage in this dimension.”

Dean groaned. “So I guess that means you don’t have enough left to zap us outta here?”

“Nothing’s ever good enough for you, is it?”

“Souls?” Castiel repeated, color returning as blood flowed to all the right places. He glanced at Dean again and frowned, then looked at Gabriel sharply. “What did you do?”

“Jealous I got to feel up your boyfriend?” Gabriel waggled his brows.

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Dean growled. He finally lifted his head and softened his tone. “It was my choice, Cas. You were dying, and I’d do it again.”

Castiel’s brows knit together. “That was incredibly reckless of you.”

Dean managed a faint grin. “That’s my middle name.”

“No it’s not—”

Gabriel cleared his throat obtrusively. “Helloo, it’s not like I didn’t do the heavy lifting.”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t understand why you bothered at all.”

Gabriel sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about the dinosaurs, the carnivorous plants, and the cannibals.”

Cas looked away. Sam grimaced sympathetically; he and Dean had their spats, but they’d never intentionally been cruel to each other. Cas had a reason not to trust Gabriel, but he also hadn’t seen how worried the archangel had been for him. Though Gabriel tried to cover it up, Sam had noticed.

Cas still didn’t meet Gabriel’s eye, and the archangel threw his hands up. “Okay, and for the Hells Angels.”

Dean snapped to attention. “The what?”

Sam suppressed a groan. God, for every step forward Gabriel made, there was something that sent the douche tumbling five steps back. _Hells Angels?_ Sam searched Cas’s face, noting how his mouth had almost disappeared in a tight line.

“That’s what you got out of the first time?” Sam guessed. Cas had been beaten up by then, which had been hard to remember after finding him later with the myriad of other wounds.

“The men there did not appreciate my comments on their nature, seeing as they were neither from Hell nor angels.” Cas flicked his gaze to Gabriel and then back to the floor.

“You bastard.”

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly in warning.

Gabriel had the grace to look abashed, and held his palms up in a rare gesture of placation. “I’m sorry for all of it, okay?”

Cas glanced at his brother again, but didn’t respond.

Dean leaned forward with a small moan, resting his elbows on his thighs to brace his head. “We should get going. Find the portal.”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “You should rest a bit, Dean.”

“‘M fine.”

“Sam is right,” Cas interceded. “What you just went through…it’s miraculous you’re still conscious.”

Dean turned his head to study Cas. Though no longer on death’s door, the angel’s limbs looked slack from exhaustion and his eyes were tired. He appeared as ready to get up and walk as Dean did. Maybe less so.

Dean shifted his gaze to meet Sam’s. “Yeah, alright. We’ll wait a bit.” He straightened and leaned back against the counter. “See if they’ve got any good stuff back there, ‘kay Sammy?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but got up to go look anyway. Cas’s stab wound may have been healed, but he was obviously dealing with the effects of blood loss, and getting some fluids down him would be a good idea. Sam didn’t know what the physical ramifications were for being soul-groped, but he figured it couldn’t hurt for Dean to stay hydrated as well. Which meant he wasn’t getting his “good stuff.”

Sam rifled around the shelves and cabinets, and eventually found a pitcher of water. Scooping up three glasses, he turned to find Gabriel had followed him behind the counter. The archangel went straight for the liquor, clanking bottles noisily.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Sam asked.

Gabriel gave him a canted look. “It takes a lot to impair an angel.”

Sam snorted. “You’re not exactly running on full cylinders.” He bit his lip. “Would…would a second jumpstart give you enough of a boost to get us out of here?”

Gabriel arched a brow. “Feeling left out?” He grinned devilishly before waving a dismissive hand. “But no, it wouldn’t work. Kali’s got this dimension locked down tight.”

Sam bit back a sigh of disappointment. “Well, thanks for saving Cas.”

Gabriel smirked. “Yeah, well, don’t go spreading rumors that the Trickster’s gone soft.”

“Of course not.” Sam tried to keep his smile to himself, but Gabriel must have noticed—he made a shooing motion with his hand before snatching up two bottles of whiskey and heading for a bench in the far corner.

Shaking his head, Sam returned to Dean and Cas. Neither had moved from being slumped against the counter. Sam just hoped no one ambushed them in the near future.

Dean glared at him sourly when Sam poured water into the mug and held it out. “Really, Sam?”

He shoved the cup into his brother’s hands. “Deal with it.” Sam poured a second mug and handed it to Cas, who looked at it dubiously. “You’re still recovering from blood loss,” he explained. “You need to drink fluids.”

Cas’s fingers wrapped around the cup slowly, and for a minute Sam was afraid he didn’t even have the strength to grip it, but he eventually lifted it to his lips and obediently drank.

Sam poured a third for himself and then scooted back to lean against the wall. Weren’t they a sight: beaten down, weary…and Cas still looked weird in the white shirt with billowy sleeves. Not that Dean didn’t. Sam let out a soft smirk, glancing at his own attire.

“What?” Dean said.

“Just thinking of the musketeer mantra: ‘All for one and one for all.’”

Dean glanced at the three of them and his lips twitched. “I’ll drink to that.” He raised his cup. Sam did the same, and when Cas just stared at them blankly, Dean grasped the angel’s wrist and lifted his drink for him. Their mugs clunked together dully. “This really should be beer,” he added.

Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean angled his head toward Cas a moment later. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” the angel replied quickly, then squinted. “Well, I am better. Thank you, Dean. You did not have to—”

“‘Course I did,” he interrupted. “You’re family, Cas. I’d do it for Sam; I’d do it for you.”

Castiel’s brow dipped further in a look of profound confusion.

“We both would,” Sam added. He’d almost suggested he do it when Gabriel first told them, though Dean wouldn’t have let him. Besides, Sam knew it was something Dean had to do. As the older brother, he’d always felt responsible for protecting his family, and being helpless to do so was one of his greatest fears. But Sam gladly would have stepped up if a second energy boost had been needed.

“I…” Cas looked down at his mug. The angel often had few words to say, but rarely did he seem at a loss for them.

Dean nudged his shoulder. “Got something for you.” He set his cup down and reached behind his back, pulling out Cas’s angel blade. Cas simply stared as Dean placed the sword in his hands.

“Was keeping it safe; knew you’d want it back,” Dean said in a gruff tone Sam recognized as his brother wanting to avoid a chick-flick moment.

Cas glanced up, a perplexed, yet grateful look on his face. “Thank you, Dean. And Sam. For everything.”

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, whereas Sam just grinned.

“Always, Cas.”

* * *

Castiel sat where Sam had propped him up, having neither the will nor energy to move. Next to him, Dean had fallen asleep, chin slumped forward on his chest. He would likely awake with a crick in the neck. Sam lay along the wall to his left, one arm tucked underneath his head as he dozed. Castiel felt the weight of exhaustion trying to pull him down—his shoulders slumped forward and his eyelids kept drooping. Yet he refused to succumb to sleep. The Winchesters had watched over him; now it was his turn to do the same.

Castiel occasionally glanced toward Gabriel where he sat on a bench with a bottle of booze. Standing guard certainly couldn’t be left to him. Despite the archangel’s aid thus far, Castiel did not trust him with Sam and Dean’s lives.

Yet, being in the presence of one of his brothers, a brother he had loved and thought dead, ached just as much as the lingering wounds on his vessel. Castiel had accepted that his brothers and sisters had orders to kill him for his rebellion, but Gabriel hadn’t been following orders when he’d trapped Castiel in the biker bar or the prehistoric world. No, the _Trickster_ was just being cruel and capricious. As much as Castiel yearned for the communion of his family, he now knew not to expect it—from any angel.

Gabriel’s apology also meant nothing, for it was only the stubbornness of Winchesters that had somehow convinced him to save Castiel at all. So he felt no gratitude, no relief or joy at being with his one-time brother. Only confusion, and fresh fissures to the wounds in his heart.

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” Gabriel said, jolting Castiel out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring. After a prolonged moment where Castiel said nothing, the archangel rolled his eyes. “Still got your panties in a twist? I said I was sorry.”

He looked away. “It’s not as though you meant it.”

“Calling me a liar, twerp?”

Castiel tensed. Gabriel’s powers may have been hampered, but that did not mean he wasn’t capable of retaliation, either in this dimension or out…if they ever escaped. Castiel really shouldn’t goad the archangel, but perhaps because they might not survive Kali’s trick, or due to his wearied state, Castiel’s sense of caution seemed to have worn away.

“I’ve learned angels can be quite good at deception,” he said roughly, pausing for a moment. “And remorse is not in their nature.” There was a moment of silence, broken by a scuff of wood, and Castiel looked up as Gabriel walked over, mouth set in a pensive line.

“What happened to you, kiddo? You used to be the most devout angel of them all. Never would have pegged you for turning jaded.”

Castiel narrowed his gaze. “I could say the same of you. A _Trickster_ , Gabriel? Angels were meant to protect humans, and you became a monster that kills them.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Only the ones that deserved it.”

Expression pinching, Castiel looked away again. The tightness in his chest was too much. The memories, everything he used to believe in, his _family_ … His gaze gradually focused on Dean’s hand resting on the floor next to his. Dean had called him family, and to the hunter that was no small thing. Family meant everything to the Winchesters. It was what they lived and died by. That they would think of Castiel that way…had he misunderstood? Dean often said things that went above Castiel’s head. Yet, the hunter had let Gabriel, whom he had no reason to trust, tap into his soul. To save _him_. To Castiel, that was no small thing either, and the icy void of abandonment he’d felt since being cut off from the Host cracked just a little.

“I don’t get it,” Gabriel said, intruding upon his thoughts once more. “Why are you fighting destiny? _Their_ destiny? You’ve known all along this was the way the world would go.” He deepened his voice to monotone. “Resistance is futile.”

“No,” Castiel said, sounding small. Images from Heaven, from his time in re-education, flooded his mind and senses. Then, unbidden, came the memory of Dean adjusting Castiel’s tie, of the hunter laughing in the back alley outside a brothel. Of Sam, shaking his hand with awe in his eyes, and then Castiel waking up in a dark, dank cage with those same eyes promising that they would get out of this.

“No,” Castiel ground out more forcefully. “God gave humans free will. Sam and Dean Winchester are no exception.”

“ _Why_ are you willing to die for them?”

Castiel jerked his head up, startled by the genuine question in Gabriel’s eyes. No one had asked him why before, not with the intention of wanting to understand. It had always been uttered in disbelief and repugnance, quickly followed by rebuke and punishment. But Gabriel wasn’t part of Heaven anymore, wouldn’t strike Castiel down for his “blasphemy” and disobedience.

“Because.” He licked his lips. “They are noble and righteous. They make mistakes, but they always try to do the right thing, to save people. To protect humanity. That was our charge. Before angels decided to take destiny and shape it to their desires. That is not fate. If angels can choose to destroy the world, then Sam and Dean can choose to save it.” Castiel fell silent, waiting for a caustic quip. When Gabriel said nothing, Castiel added in a quieter voice, “I thought you of all angels would understand, seeing as _you_ chose free will over Heaven.”

Gabriel blinked, mouth tightening. After a tense moment, he stretched out his hand. Castiel flinched back against the wall, but couldn’t react fast enough in his drained state. Two fingers pressed the center of his forehead and warm blackness washed in like a cascading wave. His heart jumped in fear, but just as his eyes drooped closed against his will, he heard an echo through his mind, as gentle as the blanket of darkness enveloping him.

_“Get some rest…brother.”_

 


	15. What Heroes Are Made Of

With the two Winchesters and little bro tucked in for the night, Gabriel headed outside for some fresh air. That little family reunion had left a sour taste in his mouth. Castiel had some audacity. Standing against Heaven. Siding with the Winchesters. It was destiny, dammit! And yet, he’d had a point. Gabriel had done what he wanted, whenever he wanted. He’d thrown out the archangel gig and swapped it with the Trickster and Loki and whatever else he pleased. How dare Castiel logically throw all that back in Gabriel’s face? ****

His offended pride urged him to teach the little twerp another lesson, but that malicious thought was quickly snuffed out by a whoppin’ pile of guilt over the _last_ _lesson_. Gabriel paced the tavern’s courtyard under a darkening sky. Dusk was setting in, but the sunset and emerging stars were blotted out by gray, dreary rain clouds that were poetically matching his mood.

Gabriel had spent a millennium away from his family, simply because it was too painful to watch them destroy each other. When Castiel had broken into his pocket dimension looking for the Winchesters, the archangel had whisked him away without a second thought. Now though, after being in the same room with him for more than ten seconds, Gabriel realized how much he’d missed his brothers. And he realized he’d been a real dick to Castiel—yeah, the Hells Angels had been overly mean and in poor taste.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Gabriel kicked at a pebble, sending it sailing across the yard to clatter against a potted plant. Damn family. They always had a way of getting to him, no matter how far he’d tried to run from them. Well, there was no running anymore. Gabriel had made a life of carefree bliss. Now, however, it was time to take responsibility for some things.

He angled his head toward the sky. “Kali, we need to talk.” His powers may have been bound in this realm, but it didn’t muzzle the force of his angelic voice.

A moment later, fire surged up before him, bringing with it the goddess of destruction. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

“Yet you came.” Gabriel waggled his brows.

Kali’s eyes flared with indignation.

“Okay, look,” he continued, dropping the flirtatious tone. “I know you’re pissed, and I can appreciate a good trick as well as the next guy. But can we talk about this now? You got me; you won.”

Kali crossed her arms. “Talk.”

He took a hesitant step forward, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Honey-buns, are you mad because I haven’t looked you up in a century, or because I have wings? Because Kotex has feathers.”

“You angels think you can run the world and then decide when it’s over.” Her lip curled up in a sneer.

Gabriel raised a hand. “Hold up there, sister. _I_ left Heaven, and have no part in the Apocalypse.”

She arched a dubious brow. “Is that why you constructed this world to convince those two humans to _play their roles_?”

He winced. “It’s complicated.” And, though he was loathe to admit it, he might have been having a change of heart on that matter.

Kali turned her nose up. “No, it’s not. I’m as old as angels, even older than some, and I will not stand by and let you dictate the fate of the world. You, your precious vessels, you will all learn not to trifle with the Eastern deities.”

“Kali—”

“No!” The ring of fire surged up around her legs. “I can see I’ve been too easy on you. What do you say, Loki, time for the knockout round?”

“Actually…” Schizzlesticks, this was really not going the way he’d hoped.

Kali clapped her hands together above her head, and with a thunderous strike of lightning, the charcoal sky flicked to gray static.

* * *

Dean jolted awake, the echo of a thunderclap reverberating through his bones. Suddenly the support behind him vanished and he was reeling backward. He managed to catch himself with one hand, the other lashing out to grab Cas’s shirt before the angel smacked his head on the floor—which was inexplicably gone, along with the walls and ceiling. Everything was fritzing gray static now.

“Sam?” Dean shouted. He pulled Cas upright, hand fisted in the customary trench coat. A glance down showed Dean was back in his own clothes again too. What the hell? “Sam!”

His brother jerked up from where he’d been sleeping, whipping his head around dazedly. “Dean?” Sam scrambled over and gripped Castiel’s other arm. Shit, why was he unconscious?

The static lasted maybe thirty seconds before they were suddenly sitting in the dirt, surrounded by flashing colored lights, high-pitched whirs and bops, and a throng of people. Someone screamed, and Dean nearly cracked his neck as he wrenched around. It was just a girl on a tilt-a-whirl. A raucous ‘ding-ding-ding’ sounded, overlapped by the grating of a cart on tracks. The sweet and salty aroma of churros and popcorn filled the air.

“Did the channel change?” Sam asked incredulously.

“How? We didn’t go through a portal.” Dean adjusted his hold on Cas’s coat, jostling him slightly. “Cas, buddy, wake up.”

Cas’s eyelids fluttered and his head tipped back. “Mhm, Dean?”

Dean patted his cheek. “Come on, dude, people are staring.” Not to mention they ran the risk of getting trampled the longer they stayed on the ground.

“Wh-what’s happening?” Cas’s eyes finally opened and he looked around in confusion.

“Not sure. Can you tell if we’re back in the real world?”

Cas cocked his head, eyes squinting. After a moment, he shook his head. “We are still in the pocket dimension.”

“Awesome,” Dean muttered. How the hell had the channel changed? And where was their neighborhood douche angel anyway? Dean met Sam’s gaze and nodded to Cas. Together, they hauled the angel to his feet, though kept a grip on his arms when he swayed. At least Dean was feeling better from Gabriel sticking a hand in his chest. They needed to figure out where the hell they were, and what new dangers Kali was planning to throw at them. Dean scanned the area intensely; the crowd and cacophonous noises were setting him on edge. So far, though, it appeared to be a regular carnival.

After turning full circle, Dean spotted Sam standing rigidly, gaze fixated on something to their left. Dean quickly searched through the morass of moving bodies and colorful booths for danger. When he spotted a group of men in red and white makeup, polkadot jumpsuits, and neon wigs, he rolled his eyes.

“Breathe, Sam, before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

Sam tore his eyes away long enough to give Dean a supremo bitch-face, then glanced nervously at the clowns again. Dean opened his mouth to make another wisecrack, then promptly shut it. Who was to say this wasn’t some horror stage with homicidal clowns? He quickly patted his pockets and let out a low curse; guess they wouldn’t get weapons this round, though he had no illusions that they wouldn’t need them.

“Dammit, where’s Gabriel?”

“Right here.”

Dean whirled to find the archangel weaving through the crowd toward them. “Where the hell’d you go?”

Gabriel’s mouth was a thin line. “I was talking to Kali, trying to make up so she’d let us out of here.”

Dean arched a brow, finding it difficult to believe the pompous archangel would apologize to anyone.

“I take it that didn’t work,” Sam said.

“Y-eah, no. I _might_ have accidentally pissed her off even more.” He lifted one shoulder as if to say, ‘women, what are you gonna do?’

Dean snorted. “Only you could.”

Gabriel shot him a dirty look before surveying the carnival. “Though, I’m not sure what torture devices she has planned here…” He twirled his finger around. “Unless all these scrumptious goodies are secretly sugar-free and made of tofu.”

Dean saw his brother cast a nervous glance over his shoulder again. He doubted psycho clowns would be out to get them; Kali’s revenge was directed toward Gabriel, not them. Still, he didn’t like the carnival environment. It was too crowded—surprises could come from anywhere.

“Those men are staring at us,” Cas spoke up.

Dean snapped to attention. “What?”

Castiel nodded toward behind Gabriel, and Dean turned sharply. Standing out in the sea of families were two men in black suits. As soon as Dean met their gaze, they moved to meld into the throng, but not before he caught sight of an earbud.

“Son-of-a-bitch, Feds.”

Sam’s brows shot up and he stretched to catch a glimpse himself. “Are you serious?”

Cas frowned. “Isn’t this the wrong century for Federalists?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Do they teach angels nothing these days?”

“Let’s go,” Dean growled, tugging Cas in the opposite direction. He kept his eyes peeled for more suits or plainclothes with earbuds as they pushed slowly through the horde of people. They’d only made it past a few booths when Sam stopped short.

“Two goons, three o’clock.”

Dean spotted them, two suits huddled on the side of a cotton candy stand, trying and failing to be inconspicuous.

“We’ll never give ‘em the slip with Sasquatch here,” Gabriel said.

Dean shot him a glower as he searched for a solution. He tapped Sam’s shoulder. “Fun house.”

His brother’s jaw tightened, less than enthusiastic, but Gabriel had a point: Sam’s height made him too easy to locate in a crowd. Leaning forward so he was walking bowed, Sam veered left toward the fun house and ducked under the overarching jester face with its tongue lolling down. Cas and Gabriel followed behind, while Dean paused in the entrance to do one last visual sweep. He thought maybe they’d given the G-men the slip, but didn’t linger to be sure.

Once inside, Dean was immediately met with three different sets of his reflection, stretched and crunched in various angles. Oh great, _that_ type of fun house. The noises from outside were all but blocked, and there didn’t appear to be anyone else in this attraction. Dean strode around the corner and finally caught up with the others. Cas had his head tilted like a bird as he studied a squat reflection of himself.

“Oh, Cassie,” Gabriel quipped. “Better lay off the sweets.”

Castiel turned his head to regard Gabriel with silent disdain. Then he shifted to look at the Winchesters. “I don’t understand. What’s ‘fun’ about mirrors that don’t function properly?”

“Later,” Dean said. “Let’s just find a way out of here. How many damn portals do we have to go through anyway?”

Gabriel shrugged. “We live in the age of 700 plus channels.”

_Awesome_.

Maybe entering a labyrinthine house of mirrors wasn’t the best idea, as they ended up going down a handful of dead-ends and backtracking. Who thought this shit was entertaining?

However, it did provide a warning when the reflections of two guys in suits suddenly appeared. Unfortunately, it also meant that since they could see the goons, the G-men could see them. And it was impossible to tell where they were exactly.

Then the suits were drawing their sidearms and sweeping the area.

“Shit, move!” Dean quickened his pace down the aisle, slapping his hands against the mirrors in search of the next passage. He just couldn’t tell where there was solid wall and where a sharp corner lay hidden. The dizzying reflections all around were also starting to make him dizzy. Two turns later, Dean smacked into a dead-end.

“Dammit!” He pivoted to go back, but halted abruptly at the sight of Cas breathing heavily, one hand resting against a mirror. Sam was standing close, flicking a worried gaze between him and Gabriel. The archangel’s jaw ticked.

A G-man’s reflection suddenly filled the mirrors surrounding them, and Dean and Sam spun, trying to determine where exactly he was located. The gun lifted and a crack echoed sharply, followed by the tinkle of shattered glass as half the reflections vanished. Dean flinched and ducked instinctively. _Son-of-a-bitch!_

He and Sam exchanged frantic looks as the suit reflections flitted back and forth across the remaining mirrors. Any moment the real guys could come around the corner firing.

Gabriel grabbed Dean’s arm, startling him.

“What the hell, man?” He tried to wrench away, but the archangel tightened his grip, a hardened determination in his expression.

“Go. I’ll hold them off.”

“What?” Dean said dumbly.

“But if you don’t have any power,” Sam started.

“I have some juice left.” With a snap of his fingers, one of the mirrored panels creaked open like a door, leading into a dark corridor. Standing this close, Dean didn’t miss Gabriel’s slight wince. Yeah, leftover juice that was going fast.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What are you playing at?”

Gabriel sighed. “Helloo, I’m volunteering for the noble sacrifice here.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Your mistrust hurts, after everything we’ve been through.”

“You blame me?”

Gabriel’s gaze flicked to Cas, and Dean thought he saw something like concern in the archangel’s eyes. It actually left him speechless.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Gabriel snapped, and shoved Dean away. “I can sense the portal; it’s within a couple miles. Just go, I’ll be on your six.” More clomping steps filled the maze, echoing exponentially like the reflections.

Sam cast Gabriel an uncertain look before taking Cas’s elbow and tugging him toward the doorway. Dean moved to follow.

“Hey, Deano.”

He paused on the threshold to glance at Gabriel, who for once appeared deadly serious.

“Take care of our brothers.”

Dean blinked at him, searching for some hint of glib disregard or ridicule. He couldn’t find it though, only a sharp determination that reminded him of how he felt looking after Sam.

With a sharp nod, Dean turned and plunged into the dark corridor. And as he ran after Sam and Cas, he found himself wishing the archangel luck.

* * *

Gabriel watched the hunter disappear, and then waved his hand to close the passage, wondering where the hell this self-sacrificial impulse was coming from. He sighed. Winchester cooties.

Turning to face the oncoming G-men, Gabriel snapped his fingers, and a double of himself shimmered into the space beside him. He arched his brows. Handsome devil.

But ugh, a dull throb pulsed behind his eyelids at the use of his grace. He never thought he’d tire of TV land, but this series had run waay past its prime. Time to give it the axe.

Gabriel stepped to the side, pressing his back against the wall, and waited. It didn’t take long for the suits to arrive, and the copied Gabriel threw his palms up.

“Whoa boys, I surrender.” Yet he backed up for each step they advanced, and the two idiots didn’t even notice that only half of Gabriel’s reflections were moving. He rolled his eyes; they totally deserved this for being incompetent.

As soon as the actual agents passed the edge of the wall, the Gabriel copy grinned and waggled his brows while the real archangel stepped out from hiding and bashed the two stooges’ heads together. Gabriel winced in mock sympathy at the audible crack and the goons crumpled. He looked back up at himself. “Now that’s what I call teamwork.”

A gun firing exploded in his eardrums, and a bullet whizzed through his double into the mirror behind it, shattering the glass into glittery shards. Gabriel-Two glanced down at the nonexistent hole in his chest, expression morphing into a dramatic wince before he flickered out of sight. Time to beat it.

Gabriel sprinted over the broken glass and down the corridor it opened up. Darting flashes of black and the half-frantic look of his own reflections dogged his heels. Which was just ridiculous. He was _not_ scared, running low on mojo or not. How bad could these guys be? FBI? Homeland Security? CIA might be fun; Gabriel could pull out some Jason Bourne moves.

He rounded a corner and smacked into a six-foot-one, 250-pound agent, which knocked Gabriel flat on his ass. Dammit, the size of his vessel had never mattered before, not when mortals would feel like running into a brick wall against _him_.

The G-man raised his gun, and Gabriel slowly got to his feet, palms up. “Turn around,” the guy growled.

“Sure thing.” Gabriel shifted slowly, keeping the thug in sight through the many mirrors. Then with lightning reflexes, he spun with a roundhouse kick to the chest, which sent the goon flying into a mirror. Broken bits showered down on him like sequins. The gun clattered across the floor, and Gabriel dove for it when another body tackled him in mid-air. He hit the ground hard with his elbow and let out a yelp, half in pain, half in surprise _at_ the pain.

Before he could spring to his feet, three pairs of hands were grasping his shoulders and arms. He was flipped onto his stomach and someone jammed a knee into his lower back.

“Oy, police brutality!” he cried. His arms were wrenched back and cuffs snapped around his wrists. Gabriel sighed inwardly; he should’ve known playing the martyr meant he’d actually have to sacrifice himself. Yet even as he was dragged to his feet and manhandled out a side entrance to a waiting van, he couldn’t muster his normal indignation. The Winchesters would get Castiel out of here, and when had _that_ become Gabriel’s priority? He hadn’t thought he had a familial protective bone left in his body. But out of all the angels, _Castiel_ had reignited that instinct?

Well, he was Gabriel’s little brother, and he didn’t deserve to suffer for the archangel’s transgressions. So Gabriel would face up to Kali’s wrath and take it like a man.

It was a last noble thought before they tranked him.

 


	16. Operation Save Gabriel

Gabriel’s tunnel had cut through the house of mirrors and opened up at the rear of the carnival. From there, Castiel and the Winchesters had slipped through a chain-link fence into the desert. Dean pushed them up a rolling hill, Sam having to support Castiel by then, much to his chagrin. His lungs burned with the inability to take deep breaths, which made black spots flirt along the edges of his vision. By the time they’d made it far enough away from the carnival for the lights and noise to be dampened, Castiel’s legs had felt ready to collapse. ****

Now he sat on a large boulder, head tilted back to take in the smattering of stars across the midnight sky. There were hundreds, thousands of them, muted pinpricks on their own, but with their combined number they ruled the night unchallenged. Had they been in the real world, Castiel would have been able to hear their song. He liked sitting and watching the stars, though it was bittersweet; they reminded him of the Heavenly Host.

Sam stood next to him, alternating his worried gaze between Castiel and the carnival now hidden on the other side of the desert knoll. So far, no one had pursued them, but the longer they waited for Gabriel, the more antsy the Winchesters became.

Truthfully, Castiel didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. Between recovering from his physical ailment and dealing with his conflicting emotions, he was bone-weary. But Gabriel was his brother, and for reasons unfathomable, had volunteered to stay behind as a distraction so the Winchesters and Castiel could escape. It was the kind of brazen behavior that reminded Castiel of the old Gabriel. Maybe…maybe the brother he loved was still there after all.

“Think he’s okay?” Sam asked after a long while.

Dean snorted, not even pausing in his agitated pacing. “He probably stopped for churros.”

“What do we do if he doesn’t catch up?”

Dean didn’t respond, just continued wearing a tread in the dirt.

A tingle ran up Castiel’s spine then as magic crackled on the air. He jerked ramrod straight. “Something’s happening.”

Dean immediately spun and moved to flank him and Sam, gaze whipping back and forth in search of danger. “What?”

Castiel craned his neck around, tentatively reaching out with his senses. When his grace didn’t quaver feebly, he stretched further. “An energy shift.”

“Gabriel or Kali?”

Castiel waited a beat. “Not Gabriel.”

“What is that?” Sam suddenly exclaimed.

Castiel flicked his gaze toward where the young Winchester was gaping. A shimmer of gray smoke was unfurling in the air, edges glowing. “It’s an inter-dimensional portal.”

“I thought we couldn’t see them?” Dean said.

“Normally, no, but the power sealing this dimension has concentrated in one area, leaving the perimeter less guarded.”

“Perimeter?” Sam repeated. “As in, is that the last portal, the one that gets us back to the real world?”

Castiel studied the refracting energy. “Yes.”

“Finally. Let’s get the hell out of here.” Dean reached down and pulled Cas to his feet. They only took a few steps though before Castiel stopped short.

“Dude, what?” Dean’s grip tightened, tensed for attack.

“I can’t leave.”

“What do you mean? Does that Kali bitch have you bound too?”

“No, I mean I can’t leave Gabriel.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “He’s a big boy; he can take care of himself.” He attempted to tug Cas along, but he still refused to move. Dean scowled. “You don’t owe him for healing you. He’s the one who almost got you killed in the first place.”

Castiel chewed on his response. Other angels would say Gabriel deserved his fate for abandoning Heaven—though even if those were not the circumstances, the mission always trumped one angel’s well-being. Necessary sacrifices. Just as with the Apocalypse, half the world must be destroyed so a few could receive Paradise. But that was not what Castiel had learned from the Winchesters.

“He is still my brother. And you would do the same for Sam, even if you were mad at each other.”

Sam arched his brows at Dean.

With a grumbling sigh, the older Winchester cast an exasperated look toward the sky. “Fine, we’ll go back for the ass-hat archangel.”

Castiel shook his head. “There’s no reason to endanger yourselves further. The portal is here; you should take it. I can manage.” In fact, his strength had almost fully returned now that some of Kali’s oppressive force had been alleviated. His grace was still bound, but he would work around it.

Dean clapped his shoulder. “No way. Gabriel may be your family, but you’re ours, and we’re not letting you do this alone.”

Sam gave a decisive nod, and Castiel was momentarily taken aback. But then that warm feeling of brotherhood and acceptance began seeping through his chest, and he felt all the more stronger for it.

“How do we find Gabriel if he is in trouble?” Sam asked.

Castiel turned his head east. “The concentration of power is not far, and I can think of only one reason for its convergence.”

Sam’s mouth tightened in understanding. “To hold an archangel.”

* * *

Gabriel’s head felt fuzzy, and not in the ‘some beautiful blonde named Helga was giving him a Swedish massage’ kind of way. He slowly peeled his eyelids open to stark white ceiling panels. A gradual sweep of the walls revealed a perfectly square room, all white, even the floor. _Oo-kay…_

Gabriel tried to sit up, but found his wrists strapped to the arms of a dentist type chair. He glanced down. _Aw, who the hell was in charge of wardrobe?_ Someone had dressed him in blue scrubs. Gabriel arched a brow at his surroundings. Had Kali overheard his comment about teeth drilling? If so, har-har.

One of the wall panels suddenly slid back with a whirr, and a tall man with dark hair and wearing a black suit walked in.

Gabriel cocked his head. “Let me guess, Boss G-Man himself?”

The man’s lips twitched. “I’m Agent Daniel Pierce. And I know who you are.”

“Oh really?” _This should be good._

Pierce smiled and wagged his finger. “You thought you could hide among us, blend in. But you’re not human, are you?” He winked as though he knew some big secret.

Gabriel lifted his brows in his best puppy eyes. “Aren’t I?”

Pierce tsked. “Playing dumb won’t get you anywhere here. So let’s make this simple: answer my questions, and I won’t have to engage in other…unseemly persuasions.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. Oh yeah, he was really scared.

“Okie-doke, what do you want to know?”

“What’s the name of your home planet?”

Gabriel blinked. _What?_ He was playing in a UFO conspiracy? Jeez, Kali was laying on the metaphors thick, wasn’t she.

“Um…Asgard.”

Pierce shook his head in disappointment. “Very well.” He nodded to what Gabriel guessed was a hidden camera, and a moment later the door panel zipped open again. This time two men in white lab coats strode in, one holding a syringe containing some bright blue liquid.

“Whoa there, fellas.” Gabriel tried to jerk his hands out of the metal cuffs bolted to the chair, but they held tight. Not only that, but he could feel a fizzle on the air that meant Kali’s power was focusing on the area. Desperation flitted through him, and Gabriel snapped his fingers to either unlock the restraints, or turn these lugs into toads, something! But nothing happened. His grace was locked down tight.

The doctor with the syringe stepped forward and slid the needle into the crook of Gabriel’s elbow. He winced at the sting as the plunger deployed the serum. Almost immediately, his vision blurred and his limbs felt weightless and floaty. Agent Pierce leaned over him, his grinning face splitting into two visages, and his voice echoed as though sounding from multiple directions.

“You look human on the outside, but let’s see if that’s true on the inside.”

* * *

Castiel led the Winchesters a couple miles through the desert. The closer they drew to Kali’s concentrated power, the more Castiel began to feel its effects, like a physical weight bearing down on his shoulders. He could barely lift his wings anymore. Though he hated putting Dean and Sam at risk, he was grateful for their help, as he was no longer sure he could pull off a rescue on his own.

They crested a low hill and came to a halt. In the middle of a barren acre stood a single, one-story building. From their elevated vantage point, the outpost’s pentagonal shape was clearly silhouetted by the stars’ illumination, though the structure itself had no lights. A barbed wire fence erected several yards from the walls enclosed the area. Though Castiel could only sense the mustering of a deity’s power, he knew Gabriel was in there.

He moved forward to descend the hill when Dean grabbed his arm.

“Whoa, we can’t just walk up and knock on the door.”

Castiel cocked his head. “I did not intend on knocking.”

“Places like this have tight security,” Sam put in. “Cameras, motion sensors, key cards, maybe even palm scanners.”

Castiel frowned, having no idea what most of those things were.

“This is so out of our league,” Dean grumbled. “Even highly trained spies take weeks to plan a break-in for a place like this.”

Sam’s lips thinned. “Wonder what they’re doing to him,” he said quietly.

Castiel couldn’t even begin to guess. He had no frame of reference for this scenario, though he assumed based on recent experience that whatever was happening down there, it wasn’t good for Gabriel.

“We must hurry,” he insisted.

“Alright, hold your horses, Rambo.” Dean scanned the surrounding area, then straightened and tapped Sam’s arm. “Here we go.”

Castiel turned his head toward where a vehicle came veering around the base of a mound. Its headlights bobbed up and down as it tottered over the dirt road toward the compound.

Sam made a small noise of disbelief. “Yeah, Dean, how exactly are we gonna get them to stop?”

“Is that what you require?” Castiel asked.

“They’ll have access cards, and at the very least probably some weapons,” Dean said, glancing at the ground. He picked up a fist-sized rock and hefted it.

Sam snorted. “Oh yeah, that’ll work.”

“I will get them to stop.” Castiel unfurled his wings and made the small leap down the hillock to land in the middle of the dirt road. It hurt to fly, so thank goodness it was only a short distance. He thought he heard a muted curse carried after him on the wind.

The headlights of the approaching vehicle hit him head-on, and Castiel squinted against their harshness. He heard the grating crunch of gravel as the car skidded to an abrupt stop six feet before reaching him. Two doors on either side opened, though Castiel couldn’t see past the high beams to make out the figures that emerged.

“Hands in the air!”

“Do it now!”

Castiel turned his palms up, not understanding the demand. He vaguely saw two dark blobs begin to move forward, but they never crossed the vehicle’s bumper, for there was a thwack and thud, followed by a grunt and another dull sound. A moment later, the headlights switched off, dousing the area in darkness, and it took Castiel a second for his eyes to readjust to the softer starlight. Two shapes lay on the ground, apparently out cold. Sam backed out of the front of the vehicle while Dean stormed up to Cas.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he snapped.

Castiel frowned. “You said you needed the vehicle to stop.”

“They could have shot you!”

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. “I didn’t try to attack them.”

Dean cast an exasperated look to the sky. “Dude, remember the mirror house? They shoot first and ask questions later!” He stepped forward, violating what Castiel knew to be Dean’s personal space rule, and grabbed the lapel of the trench coat. “You almost died on me once today; you don’t get to do it again. _Ever_. Got it?”

Castiel blinked. “Yes, Dean.”

“Good, now come on.” He pivoted and marched back to the vehicle. Sam was kneeling next to one of the unconscious men and rifling through his pockets.

“Score.” He pulled out a plastic card with a magnetic strip.

Dean stood over the other guy, mouth grimacing in displeasure. “We should change clothes.”

Sam glanced at the bodies, then at his jeans and flannel, appearing equally disinclined. “Yeah.”

Castiel watched as the Winchesters began tugging the men’s suit jackets and shirts off, then their shoes and pants. Dean produced a bunch of plastic ties from one of the pockets and cinched one around the agent’s wrists, binding them behind his back. He did the same to the guy’s ankles before passing the zip ties to Sam so he could repeat the process on the other man.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Drag these guys over the hill and dump them in some bushes.” He and Sam then took their armfuls of clothes and headed around to the back of the SUV.

Castiel didn’t question Dean’s order, and walked over to grab both men by their bound feet. He dragged them roughly over the rocky ground and up the hill, depositing them under some shrubs. He stood back and appraised their position before nudging them tighter into the brush in order to conceal them as best he could.

When he returned, Sam and Dean were dressed in the men’s suits and securing sidearms in their holsters. Sam shook his legs out as he walked, scowling.

“These don’t fit.”

Dean glanced down at the hem of Sam’s pants dangling three inches above his shoe, exposing dirty white socks. He smirked. “Okay, let’s get Operation Save Gabriel underway.”

Sam gave him a canted look before getting behind the wheel. Dean gestured for Cas to get in the car and slid into the front passenger seat. Castiel settled in the back, and the SUV lurched into motion as Sam pressed the gas.

The tension radiating from the Winchesters increased the closer they drew to the facility. When they reached the fence, Sam eased the vehicle to a stop and rolled down his window. There were no guards in front of the gate, only a tiny box mounted on a metal pole with a solid red light. Sam swiped the plastic card through it, and the light flashed to green. There was a click and grinding sound as the gate slowly rolled open. Sam drove the SUV up to the building and parked near a door. Then he and Dean got out slowly, eyes sweeping the area for danger.

Sam repeated the card swipe on another box attached to the door. Its light also turned green with a click, and he pulled the door open, his other hand hovering near his gun holster. But the corridor inside was empty.

Dean let out an audible breath, then turned to Castiel. “We run into anyone, let me and Sam do the talking.”

Castiel didn’t argue. The Winchesters were obviously more knowledgeable about this environment than he was. Another reason he was grateful they’d insisted on coming. He probably wouldn’t have had the power to blast through every door, especially if there were more mechanically sealed like this.

“Can you sense Gabriel?” Sam asked.

“No,” Castiel replied. Kali’s power was too heavy inside this structure. Which meant his brother was here somewhere.

“Alright,” Dean said. He and Sam took the lead, glancing up and down various corridors as they wove a path deeper into the compound. Castiel didn’t know how they chose a direction, but since his ability to detect the proper course was equally useless, he supposed it didn’t matter.

They came to another sealed access point, this one a wired gate that required two cards be swiped simultaneously. Sam and Dean appeared to be holding their breaths as they slid the plastic cards through the scanners, and then let them out in relief when the lights flashed green to grant them admittance.

When they rounded the next corner, Dean tapped Sam’s shoulder and pointed to a room labeled ‘Security’. The Winchesters positioned themselves on either side of the door, hands prepared to draw their weapons, and Dean shouldered the door open. The room was empty, save for several monitors showing footage of corridors and other rooms.

Sam went to study the screens while Dean dug through the drawers. Castiel shifted impatiently. Gabriel obviously wasn’t in this room, so why were they lingering?

“Got him,” Sam spoke up, which was shortly followed by a low, “What the hell?”

Both Castiel and Dean moved closer to see what Sam was looking at on one of the monitors. In a crisp white room, Gabriel was bound to a large chair that was angled back in a reclined position. He wore blue pants and no shirt, and his head was lolling dazedly from side to side. A man in a black suit was leaning over, speaking something in the archangel’s ear as two men in white coats laid out a series of sharp implements on a cart.

Castiel stiffened. They were going to torture his brother.

 


	17. The Winchester Playbook

Sam stared in horror at the security monitor. Torturing an archangel…he wouldn’t have thought it possible. And yeah, Gabriel had put them all through hell, but he didn’t deserve this. ****

Castiel’s mouth had nearly disappeared in a tight line, and Sam could only imagine what he was feeling. Cas and Gabriel may not have been close, but they were brothers.

“We must get in there,” Cas said urgently.

“Hang on.” Sam leaned over and clacked the keys on a keyboard, pulling up the security grid. He glanced at the security monitor showing Gabriel, and his heart dropped into his stomach as he saw a doctor pick up a scalpel. Sam scanned the building’s layout, mentally mapping out a path to the white room. With a few more keystrokes, the computer made a series of beeps.

“Okay, I’ve locked down every corridor except a straight shot for us in and out.”

Dean lifted his brows appreciatively. “Nice.”

They moved out of the security room, weapons drawn. The cameras hadn’t shown anyone else for them to run into aside from the three guys in with Gabriel. Still, they moved cautiously though hurriedly, taking two lefts and one right before coming to where the facility’s blueprints had showed the room was supposed to be. Only, he couldn’t see a door.

“What the hell?” Dean muttered, turning back and forth.

Sam spotted an indentation in the wall, and tapped it. A panel slid up, revealing a keypad. He quickly produced his security pass and swiped it, and then almost jumped as part of the wall whooshed open. Guns raised, Sam and Dean stormed in.

The room’s occupants jerked up in surprise. Sam’s gaze immediately snapped to Gabriel, who had a five-inch incision carved down the center of his chest. The scalpel the scientist was holding dripped crimson fluid on the floor as he blinked in bewilderment. Sam immediately shot him in the shoulder, the force of the bullet propelling him back.

The agent in the suit tried to draw his weapon, but Dean fired at him, hitting center mass. The last remaining doctor threw his hands up and started backing away, though he had nowhere to go. Surrendering or not, Cas suddenly appeared next to him and delivered a punch to the guy’s chest that sent him flying back into the wall with a sickening crunch. Then Cas pivoted to reach Gabriel’s side and began undoing the restraints. Sam hurried forward and snatched some gauze off the medical cart to press against the laceration.

Gabriel looked around dazedly, pupils dilated. Crap, was he _drugged_? “What are you doing here?” he slurred.

“What’s it look like?” Dean retorted as he scooped up the agent’s gun. “Saving your ass.”

Gabriel whipped his gaze between them in shock. “ _Why?_ ”

“Hey, I woulda let you rot in here,” Dean said gruffly. “But Cas is better than me.”

Gabriel blinked at his brother as Cas helped him sit up. “You _moron_ , I made the sacrificial move so you lugs could escape!” He swayed and Cas gripped his arm to hold him. “A real Winchester play,” Gabriel half-mumbled.

“Yeah, well, family doesn’t get left behind,” Cas replied. “Also a Winchester rule.”

Sam exchanged a small look of pride with Dean. His brother just gave a half-hearted eye roll in response. Grabbing some more gauze and surgical tape, Sam hastily bandaged Gabriel’s chest. “What were they doing to you?”

Gabriel snorted. “Welcome to Area 51. They thought I was a little gray dude under this charming exterior.”

Sam’s jaw nearly dropped in horror, and he glanced down at the bloody patch of gauze covering what had been the beginnings of a Y-incision. That was just _wrong_ …

“Pack it up, fellas,” Dean said impatiently, watching the door for signs of trouble.

Cas braced Gabriel as he rolled out of the chair, and kept a grip on his arm when he swayed. Hopefully those drugs would wear off a lot sooner than they would for a human. Sam shrugged out of his suit jacket and helped Gabriel slip into it. Then he lifted his gun and moved out with Dean into the corridor, Cas and Gabriel following behind. They didn’t run into anyone all the way to the security gate, but Sam hadn’t been able to lock down the passages past it, as they’d been on a separate grid. So when they hurried through a cross-section, four agents spotted them and sounded the alarm.

Bullets pinged against the walls, and Sam and Dean haphazardly returned fire, shooting backwards as they ran toward the exit, which was only thirty feet away. Cas and Gabriel reached the door first, practically slamming through it into the night. Sam and Dean barreled out next, bullets ricocheting on their heels as the heavy metal door slammed closed. Sam then fired twice at the keycard panel, hoping the system would automatically lock down when under attack.

Dean had dove into the driver’s side of the SUV with Cas and Gabriel in the back, so Sam sprinted around to jump in the passenger seat just as Dean turned the key in the ignition. Slamming his foot down on the gas, the tires screeched and the SUV lurched forward.

Sam belatedly remembered the security gate, but before he could bring it up, the headlights illuminated the barbed wire fence, and it seemed Dean had no intention of slowing down. In fact, he pressed on the gas harder, revving the engine with an extra burst of rpm. Sam shot his hand up to grip the slingshot handle, bracing himself for impact.

The SUV plowed through the fence, snapping poles and chain-link with a clatter and clang of metal. Something rattled under the vehicle’s carriage before flinging free and crashing into something else. No way would Dean be this reckless if they were in the Impala.

A bright light flashed in the side and rearview mirrors. Sam twisted around. Oh shit, two sets of headlights were in pursuit.

“Uh, what’s the plan, boys?” Gabriel asked from the back.

“We found the portal,” Dean replied. “And I say we drive right through it.”

Sam whipped back around. “At ninety miles an hour?” he exclaimed, then shot Gabriel an alarmed look. “Is the car gonna follow us out of this dimension?” Or were they gonna be spit out at that speed?

The archangel quirked a brow. “Huh, that’s a fascinating question.”

A series of cracks suddenly split the air, only slightly muffled by the rev of the engine, and the back window shattered. Sam jerked his head down instinctively as bits of glass pelted the back of his neck. _Crap!_

“Get down!” he yelled at Cas and Gabriel, reaching between the seats to yank them lower.

Dean cranked the wheel, swerving the vehicle to provide a moving target. More bullets clanked against the back of the SUV.

“Son-of-a-bitch!”

“Yo, pass me a piece!” Gabriel yelped.

Cas twisted around, pressed against the backseat cushion. “A piece of what?”

Sam thrust his gun back toward Gabriel’s grasping fingers. Gripping it tight, the archangel shifted onto his knees and braced the Glock on the back dash, aiming out the broken window. He fired multiple shots, most of which probably didn’t hit their targets as the SUV jolted and juddered over the uneven desert terrain. One of the headlights on a pursuit vehicle exploded, and then the second SUV swerved sharply and plowed into a giant cactus.

_Come on, where was the portal?_

Sam straightened as he thought he saw a flicker of light up ahead. Keeping his eyes peeled through the darkness, he prayed that glow was the portal, and not some actual UFO coming to land on top of their heads.

 There was a loud pop and the rear of the SUV lurched down on the left. Dean gripped the wheel tightly, slamming on the brakes as he tried to maintain control, but the tires screeched and Sam felt himself start to tip sideways as their vehicle slowly skidded into a flip.

* * *

The car moved in slow motion, tilting left as Dean fought to correct, but with a back tire blown out, he couldn’t stop the momentum. Gravity pulled him against the driver’s window, gradually wrenching the vehicle down onto its side with a skid. Sam landed on top of him, crushing him against the glass as the car slid through dirt several feet before coming to a stop. Oh, so that was a good reason to wear seat belts.

Dean groaned, feeling a myriad of bruises forming. “Sam?” he said hoarsely.

Sam shifted on top of him, accidentally elbowing him in the stomach. “S’ry.”

Gabriel moaned from the backseat. “Okay, your driving privileges are revoked.”

“Cas?” Dean called. He craned his neck to peer between his seat and the wall, but could only make out Gabriel’s tangled limps and a glimpse of tan.

“Oh, don’t worry about him, I broke his fall,” Gabriel quipped.

Like Dean could give a damn. They needed to get out of here. Where was the other vehicle? “Dude, you’re heavy,” he grunted, trying to shove his gigantic brother’s unruly limbs off him.

Sam squirmed to climb out of the SUV, stepping on Dean’s chest, arm, and leg, all the while muttering apologies at Dean’s grunts of protests. Sam pushed the passenger door open like an escape hatch and hauled himself up, then dropped down to the ground with an ‘oomph’. Dean hurriedly climbed out after him, but instead of jumping off, leaned over to wrench open the back door. Lights bobbed only a quarter-mile away. _Shit!_

“Come on, angels, we gotta go!” He scooted around the top and managed to lift the door, only as soon as he did, the backseat was empty. Dean whipped his head around and spotted Cas and Gabriel outside the vehicle, Cas holding Gabriel upright by the back of Sam’s stolen suit jacket. Both of them looked rumpled, but only Gabriel’s bandaged chest showed signs of bleeding. Dean bit back his grumbling and leaped to the ground, wincing as the landing vibrated up his shins.

Tires squealed from the other side of the overturned SUV. Dean gestured frantically at them. “Move it!” The shimmering portal was just three yards away.

Sam grabbed Gabriel’s other arm, and he and Cas yanked the archangel forward. Dean took a deep breath a second before he charged through the electrostatic ripples, praying they didn’t land in some whacked out channel with giant bugs.

The four of them staggered into an abandoned warehouse. Wait, the same one Dean and Sam had gone to investigate in the first place. “Are we…?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “We are out of the pocket dimension.”

“Thank god,” Sam uttered, seeming ready to collapse. He glanced at the angels. “You two okay now?”

Gabriel straightened, looking down at his now bare chest. He ripped the gauze off and stared at the incision. Rather than instantaneously disappearing as Dean was used to seeing from angels self-healing, the blood slowly receded as skin melded together. Gabriel arched a brow, unimpressed.

“Eh, after I stop at a chocolate café and refuel, I’ll be good as new.” With a snap of his fingers, he was back in regular clothes.

“And you, Cas?” Dean asked, giving him a judicious appraisal. His tie was hanging at a thirty-degree angle, and his coat was smeared with dirt, but at least it didn’t have all those slashes anymore. Though Dean wondered if the partially healed ones were still underneath. “You good?”

Cas lowered his gaze as though taking stock of himself, then looked up again, expression carefully neutral. “My grace is what it was before.”

So, still cut off. At least he wasn’t practically mortal. Dean angled a wary look at Gabriel. If his powers were still temporarily reduced, now would be a good time to get away from him. But Castiel was standing stiffly, eyes flicking nervously to Gabriel and away, as though reluctant to leave. Dean and Sam should probably give them some privacy, though Dean wasn’t exactly keen on leaving Cas alone with the shifty Trickster. Gabriel didn’t need their help anymore, though surely he owed them for saving his life.

The building suddenly shook, rattling the windows and foundation. Gabriel groaned.

A column of fire shot up in the center of the warehouse, sweltering heat wafting over them in suffocating waves. Oh crap, they’d forgotten about the psycho bitch. Dean stepped closer to Sam. Even back in the real world, they were no match for a pagan goddess.

The flames died down, revealing Kali in her red blouse and black skirt. Her eyes seethed with fury. “Well, Loki, it seems you’re more resourceful than I gave you credit for.”

Gabriel flashed her a cocky grin. “Come on, sugar, you’re just now figuring that out?”

Nostrils flaring, Kali took a menacing step forward and raised her palm. Cas pushed his way in front of Gabriel, dropping his angel blade into his hand. Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach. _No, you idiot!_

“Whoa, kiddo, what are you doing?” Gabriel said, sounding equally dismayed.

Kali sneered. “Don’t be foolish. My quarrel isn’t with you.”

Cas’s expression hardened. “It is now.”

“Okay, time out!” Gabriel stepped between Cas and Kali, throwing his arms out as though to hold them both back. “Castiel,” he said in a low, serious tone. “I appreciate the gesture, but this is for me to face.” He put a gentle yet firm hand on Cas’s arm, lowering the sword. Cas continued to glare threateningly at the goddess.

Gabriel turned to face Kali. “I get that you’re pissed about me lying, and about the Apocalypse. But killing me isn’t going to stop my brothers. Hell, they wouldn’t even grieve.”

Dean saw a muscle in Castiel’s cheek twitch that suggested at least one angel would.

“And I’m sorry,” Gabriel continued, sounding more sincere than Dean had ever heard. “There are a lot of things I wish I could change.”

Dean cleared his throat nervously, ignoring the warning glare Sam shot him in response. “Look, we don’t want to see the Apocalypse go down either. You could help us fight it. Help us take down Lucifer.”

Kali narrowed a suspicious look toward him. “I could offer to deliver the precious vessels in order to lure him into a trap.”

Now Cas took a step sideways to protect the Winchesters. “You will not lay a hand on them.”

Gabriel threw Cas an exasperated look before addressing Kali. “You can’t fight Lucifer; he’ll destroy you. Trust me, I know my brother. He should scare the living crap out of you. You can’t beat him.”

“Westerners, I swear,” she muttered. “You think you’re the only ones on earth? You’re not the only religion. There are billions of us, and if we unite—”

“Yeah, ‘cause you guys all get along so well,” Gabriel said with an eye roll.

She lifted her chin. “Against a common enemy, we will.”

“Kali, I’m begging you, don’t do this. I don’t want to see any of my brothers die.”

Dean wondered if Gabriel even realized he’d moved closer to Cas when he said that.

“I don’t want to see _you_ die.”

Kali made a derisive sound, but her brow creased slightly. After a long moment, she said, “You needn’t worry if you stand with us, Loki.”

Gabriel shook his head, hands clenching. “I can’t.”

Her features smoothed into that cold exterior. “That’s what I thought.”

Dean tensed, prepared for her to strike, for Gabriel to either be engulfed in flames or for Cas to jump in front of him and take the blow instead. All of which Dean could do nothing to stop. Except…the look in Gabriel’s eye in that moment between seconds—pain, sorrow, anguish. For the first time, Dean thought he understood the archangel.

“He can’t choose between his two families,” Dean blurted, earning startled gazes from everyone. Gabriel was giving him a ‘what the hell do you think you’re talking about?’ look.

Dean cleared his throat and barreled on. “I see right through you, you know that? The smart-ass shell, the whole ‘I could give a crap’ thing? Believe me, it takes one to know one. So I get it. You left Heaven, created a new life, made a new family. But that doesn’t mean you stop caring about the old one.”

Dean shifted his gaze to Cas. He’d never really acknowledged or understood exactly what Castiel had sacrificed for the Winchesters. It’d been easy to dismiss the gravity of being cut off from Heaven by saying Cas was better off since all angels were dicks anyway. By ignoring the fact they _were_ Cas’s brothers. And even though Dean and Sam had welcomed Cas into their dysfunctional family unit, considered him like a brother, it didn’t erase the history or loyalty Cas had to his first home.

Cas tilted his head, squinting as though trying to read some unspoken sentiment in Dean’s eyes. Dean didn’t look away in embarrassment though, simply tried to convey his apology—and promise—to the angel that’d become an honorary Winchester.

“We-ll,” Gabriel said, breaking the silence. “Before you two get a room, I just want to say…” He turned back to Kali, and dropped his shoulders. “He’s right.”

Kali pursed her lips in consideration.

Gabriel spread his arms beseechingly. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t want to see Baldur, Odin, Ganesh, hell even smarmy Mercury, get hurt. Which is what will happen if you go after Lucifer.”

“We should sit back and let the world be destroyed?” Kali snapped.

“Sam and I aren’t gonna let that happen,” Dean jumped in again. “I don’t know how, but we’re gonna stop the Apocalypse.”

Kali gave him an unimpressed glance, while Gabriel looked at the ceiling wearily. Pursing her ruby lips, the pagan goddess regarded the archangel thoughtfully. “This isn’t over, Loki,” she said in a low tone that sounded as though she meant more than just their relationship.

Gabriel gave her a sad look. “Never is.”

A whoosh of flames surged up, and then Kali was gone.

Dean let out a breath of relief. Another crisis averted. “Think couples therapy would work on Michael and Lucifer that well?” he said under his breath. Sam rolled his eyes.

For a moment, the four of them stood awkwardly in the empty warehouse.

“Gabriel,” Cas finally said, stepping forward hesitantly. But he didn’t finish. Maybe he knew what the archangel would say, that he still couldn’t choose sides between his brothers.

Gabriel flashed him a half-hearted grin. “Take care of yourself, kiddo.” He flicked his gaze to the Winchesters. “I hope you two chuckleheads know what you got here.”

Dean glanced at Cas, who tilted his head in question at his brother. Dean knew what Gabriel meant though.

“We do,” Sam said, taking a supportive step toward Cas.

Gabriel lifted his hand to snap his fingers, pausing to give them a mischievous brow waggle, and then vanished.

Dean swept his gaze around the empty warehouse. He wondered how long they’d been trapped in TV land. Bobby might be worried. “Let’s get out of here.”

They stepped outside into an early morning sun. The Impala was right where they’d left her, thank goodness. Dean did a quick visual sweep for scratches as he approached the driver’s door. Sam paused on the other side, clearing his throat subtly, and Dean glanced over to where Cas was hanging back by the door.

“Cas, you comin’?”

Cas cocked his head as though in hesitant consideration, and Dean heard Sam snort in amusement.

“It wasn’t a question, Cas,” Sam said kindly. “Get in.”

Cas looked slightly taken aback, but didn’t argue, and the next second he was sitting in the backseat. Dean rolled his eyes. Couldn’t the angel learn to use a door? Sam was smirking as he climbed into the passenger side, and Dean slipped behind the wheel.

Dean adjusted the rearview mirror to meet Cas’s gaze. “Stick around for a few days, okay?”

Cas frowned. “…Okay. Do you have another case?”

“Nah, I’m thinking we all need some R&R.”

“Some what?”

Dean sighed. “Rest and recreation.”

“Oh.” Cas shifted in his seat. “Like watching television?”

Both Dean and Sam jerked straight. “No!”

 


End file.
